


They Don't Care About Us

by Amynion



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2018-12-15 18:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 79,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11811930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amynion/pseuds/Amynion
Summary: "Anyone who looks on the world as if it was a game of chess deserves to lose..." Aramis has been separated from the Inseparables. War and God conspire to keep them apart. His brothers will find him, of that you can be sure. But are they really his brothers? Is he still Aramis? And are they all just pawns in a great game of chess?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello people of AO3 :) I hope you like angst. 
> 
> I started writing this long before season 3 aired (alas, life has majorly got in the way), so if you would cast your minds back to the end of season two - Aramis off to Douai and the others off to war.
> 
> The inspiration and title come from 2Cellos cover of "They Don't Care About Us", give the video a watch :D The summary quote is from "Person of Interest". And the below quote is from "Love, Rosie".

**Part One**  
  
_It was no ordinary friendship._  
 _We were inseparable, constantly being separated._

**Chapter One**

On returning to his tent Athos put his head in his hands and tried to hold everything in. They had lost six men that day, and countless others were wounded. They were expecting a skirmish, they hadn’t expected so many. The burden of leadership weighed heavily on his shoulders. He couldn’t help but think of the families left behind to grieve the fallen. Athos pulled away to look at his hand, it was still covered with dried blood. He had crouched beside Gardet as the man drew his last breath.

Porthos pushed his way in uninvited and put a hand to Athos’ shoulder. “You did what you could.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

It was _never_ enough.

“We had bad information, it couldn’t be helped.”

“You think knowing that makes it any better?” He turned to glare at Porthos. “Those men weren’t destined to die. Something could have been done, if I…”

“You can’t go back in time and change it. You can’t bring them back. Dwelling on it will only drive you mad.” Porthos’ voice turned hard.

Athos opened his mouth to protest, but the harsh words died on his tongue. Instead he swept a hand across his tired face and sighed. “Forgive me my friend, I’m just a little weary. I think we all are. Where is d’Artagnan?”

“Helping with the wounded, did you want to see him?”

“No, no… is he all right?”

“A blade caught his arm, but it’s not serious. You know what he’s like, he’ll put the others before himself. Too much like Aramis if you ask me.”

“Quite.” By now Athos had suppressed the automatic response to injuries - have Aramis look at it. He was always used to having his brother there. Now he wasn’t. Part of Athos was thankful Aramis didn’t have to suffer the trials of war. Hopefully he had found peace far away from the battlefield.

“Get some sleep. I’ll sort the men out.”

“Thank you, Porthos.” Athos managed a small smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”

**~oOo~**

Aramis tied his horse to a tree and very carefully made his way down a steep slope to the stream below. He dipped his hands into the water and splashed his face. On such a warm day the cool water was most refreshing. It was times like this he regretted the heavy cassock he had taken to wearing. Having washed the sweat from his brow Aramis went about filling his canteen. If there was one thing he had learnt on his travels it was to take advantage of water while it was there.

For many months Aramis had stopped in Douai. He settled into monastic life well enough, but Aramis was Aramis, and a stationary sedate life of the strictest routine was never going to sit well with him. He remained devoted to prayer and observed all the day to day rituals, but he grew restless. After searching his heart and speaking for long hours with the Abbé, Aramis came to realise he could roam the lands and still serve God. And so he took to travelling between monasteries to help their local communities with his medical skills and anything else he could turn his hand to. It was the best of both worlds. A house of God was at hand for peace and quiet reflection when he needed it, but he was not trammelled by stone walls and dusty tomes. Life outside the monastery was there to be had. Though not all of his brothers approved of it, some thought it more proper to stay confined. But Aramis could see he was doing good in the world, and surely God would approve of that.

After spending some time in Narbonne Aramis had taken to the road again. The unfinished cathedral of the city was most impressive, even if it did take some imagination to see it complete. It was to be the largest in all of France, but work had stalled several hundred years ago. There was still enough of the cathedral there to be useable. Narbonne’s cathedral was likely to remain half done evermore, however the the abbey at Foix was being rebuilt. Aramis heard monks speak of the building being destroyed during the religious wars, unfortunately the relics housed there were burnt. But despite this misfortune, like a phoenix from the ashes, the abbey would rise again. The idea took Aramis that it would be a fine thing to have a hand in rebuilding it, and so he set out to offer his assistance. Although it would take him west, and closer to the Spanish border. A voice at the back of Aramis’ head wondered at the fact he had travelled so far south - was he unconsciously drawn to his friends? He did his best not to think of them, for thinking of them meant missing them, and that was a barely healed wound he had no wish to pick at.

When Aramis turned to climb back up the slope he stalled.

There was a man standing by his horse. The fellow was well armed, with a sword and pistol at his belt, he was clearly no ordinary civilian. As Aramis watched dumbfounded, the intruder set about untying his mount.

On recovering his wits Aramis called out. “That’s my horse!”

The man lazily turned to him with a sly smile. “It’s mine now.”

Something in Aramis chafed at being addressed so casually, he was used to inspiring some measure of fear. The horse thief hadn’t even raised his pistol! But Aramis supposed he was dressed as a monk, indeed he _was_ a monk, and monks were not known for their prowess in battle.

Still, that meant the man was stealing a _monk’s_ horse. Even if it was Aramis. How could he stoop so low?

“You would steal from a man of the cloth, Monsieur? Do I need to remind you of the hellfire that awaits such sinners?”

“Save your lecture, priest. If you want a horse, then pray for one. This is mine.” He turned to leave and lead the horse away.

A monk he might be, but Aramis would not stand for that. He scrabbled back up the slope and shouted for the thief to stand and face him. Suddenly something collided with his side and a blow to the face sent him reeling. Aramis hit the ground and waited for the world to stop spinning, when it did he saw there was a second man. He must be getting rusty, how had he not noticed? Aramis _did_ notice the boot coming for him. He managed to roll out of the way and gain his feet in time to fend off another punch before lashing out with one of his own.

“Oh, so you want to fight do you, priest?” The newcomer laughed.

The horse thief shouted over his shoulder. “ _Leave him, we need to go_!”

“ _But the priest needs to be taught a lesson! This French pig thinks he can raise a hand to me!_ ”

Spanish. They were speaking Spanish. Oh no…

But on the bright side, they didn’t realise Aramis could understand them.

“ _Romero will have our hides if we’re any longer!_ ” The horse thief shouted back.

Aramis threw another blow while they were bickering. It landed and the Spaniard rocked back. He looked slightly stunned afterwards, as if he couldn’t quite believe a monk had just hit him. They lay into each other then. Until a familiar click sounded and a new voice shouted.

“ _Lucero, stop!_ ”

Aramis stilled and stood panting. His opponent shot back like a stricken dog. Aramis wiped at the trail of blood winding its way down from the corner of his mouth and eyed the stranger. He held a pistol ready to fire and had the air of one in charge, much like Athos. Though the thought of Athos caused a flare of pain that Aramis tamped down on quickly.

“ _Forgive me Romero, we were just taking this horse when the priest decided to fight back_.”

“ _Well, you were stealing his horse, what did you expect?_ ” It was said somewhat wryly, Aramis tried not to smile.

Romero switched to French and addressed Aramis. “Drop your weapons.”

“I have no weapons, can’t you see I’m a man of the cloth?”

“And yet, I do not believe you are entirely unarmed. Please, drop your weapons.”

Aramis gave a slight scowl and reached into the folds of his cassock to pull out a small knife. It hit the grass moments later.

“You can have the horse, I have little else for you to take. Now let me go.” It wasn’t in Aramis’ nature to roll over so easily, but he was outnumbered and outgunned. The outcome would not be good.

“I’m afraid I cannot do that.” A faux apologetic expression graced Romero’s face. “You’ve seen us, I cannot allow you to leave.”

“I will say nothing of seeing you here. I swear it.” Aramis held his hands out in a placating gesture.

“And I can trust the word of a priest?”

“If you cannot trust the word of a priest, whose word can you trust?”

“Many a lie has slipped from between pious lips.”

The figure of the Cardinal loomed large in Aramis’ memory. It was true, religion and honour did not always sit comfortably hand in hand.

The Spaniard continued. “There are only two ways for you to get out of this.”

Aramis frowned. “Let me guess, just one of those involves me breathing?”

“ _Bind his hands._ ” Romero called to his men and Lucero went to retrieve a length of rope.

“What are you doing?”

“Saving your life.” He said with a smirk.

**~oOo~**

Aramis sighed unhappily at this turn of events. He now found himself being led through the trees tied to his own horse, which was mounted by a Spanish soldier to boot. The indignity was too much. What would his friends have said? But it did no good to think of his friends, they were not here to deride his predicament or help him out of it.

“What is your name?”

Aramis was startled from his thoughts by Romero’s question.

“Not your concern.” He scowled.

“Then will you tell me the name of your horse at least?”

Aramis paused a moment before giving a hesitant answer. “Hawthorn.”

“Hawthorn eh?” Romero reached a hand forwards to pat his withers. “He is a fine horse, too fine for a priest. I would have thought an ass would do for the likes of you.”

“I am fortunate to have him.” Aramis let the insult wash over him.

“You _were_ fortunate to have him.” The Spaniard corrected.

Aramis let out a frustrated huff. He was pulled along at a fast pace, and given no time to recover when his foot hit a stray root. He nearly went down to his knees.

“If you fall I will not pick you up.” Romero patted the pistol at his side.

They carried on in silence, slipping furtive glances to the trees. Aramis was glad when the Spaniard began to slow down, with the exertion and heat he was sweating terribly.

Romero turned to address his men. “ _We’re losing light, look for a place to set up camp._ ”

A couple set off into the trees ahead of them. Romero had four men with him, Lucero, the horse thief, and two others. More were fanned out amongst the trees, occasionally one would return to speak in hushed tones with Romero. No doubt he had more men further out scouting as well. The military part of Aramis’ mind couldn’t help but try to calculate the size of his force. It was not big enough to constitute a raid or meaningful attack, and it was small enough to cross the border and remain undetected on French soil. The men he conversed with spoke French flawlessly, and they did not seem overly Spanish at first sight. At a guess Aramis would put their purpose as soldiers on a mission of stealth, but to what end? He would just have to watch, listen, and learn.

Finally they reached a small clearing that was already half set up as a camp. A fire crackled and bits of food were being readied for cooking. Others started pulling out bedrolls and claiming their space. Romero suddenly gave a harsh pull on the rope and Aramis lurched forwards. The Spaniard took a handful of his hair and lowered a pistol to aim right between his eyes.

Aramis swallowed heavily and held himself very very still.

“If you run, I will shoot you. If you raise a hand to me or any of my men, I will shoot you. If you even think of making a noise, I will shoot you. Do you understand?”

He managed a small nod, and Romero released him.

“ _Tie him to that tree._ ”

The rope was thrown to Lucero, and Aramis found himself tightly bound to a tree just to the side of the camp. Men melted into the shadows around him, taking up their watch. No doubt a close eye was being kept on him too, but Aramis couldn’t help but try his bonds. Not that there was any give in them whatsoever. He let out a sigh and dropped his head back against the trunk. It would not be a comfortable night. His throat was parched too, and the food the Spanish ate smelled wonderful. It had been many long hours since he had eaten. Finally once they were finished Romero waved a hand over in Aramis’ direction.

“ _Give the scraps to the priest._ ”

The horse thief came over and dropped a bowl in his lap. It wasn’t much, but it was making Aramis’ mouth water. There was only one problem.

Aramis gave a sharp cough and the horse thief turned around with a questioning look.

“My hands.”

The horse thief gave a grunt and returned to loose Aramis’ bonds. Instead he tied the rope around Aramis’ neck. “If you use those hands to try and free yourself from the tree, you should know that you’re being watched and you’re surrounded. You won’t get far.”

He had suspected as much. Aramis remained optimistic that there would be an opportunity for escape, if not here then somewhere else. The soldier in him was always looking for a way out. He tried to peer into the darkness to make out the unknown watchers, but the light from the fire had killed his night vision. There was little to be seen beyond the clearing.

After eating his scraps and begging a mouthful of water, Aramis closed his eyes and rested his head against the tree trunk. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, but there was little else to do for now. The Spanish took to idle conversation. There were crude mentions of women back home, and derogatory comments on another regiment. It seemed the Spanish had their rivalries as well. And then talk turned to something else…

“ _Why are we bringing the priest along Romero?_ ”

“ _He may prove useful_.”

“ _He’s just another mouth to feed and a risk if you ask me. One word or a shout when we reach Foix and he’ll ruin everything_.”

“ _He won’t speak if he knows what’s good for him. And you won’t question my decisions if you know what’s good for you_.” An uncomfortable moment of silence passed between them in wake of the threat, and then Romero continued. “ _It has been many years since I was last in these parts, a local will be most useful, and a man of the cloth at that. He’s not going to fight back_.”

Aramis unconsciously bristled at hearing that.

And then Lucero spoke up. “ _I don’t know, he fought well enough when we took his horse_.”

“ _Lucero, you could be bested by my grandmother, and she’s been in the ground ten years_.” Romero paused as a laugh ran around the campfire. “ _All right gentlemen, get some sleep, we’ve an early start tomorrow._ ”

Aramis waited until they had settled down and were well away before he started twisting and turning, trying to catch a glimpse of those on watch. He couldn’t see anybody, even when the fire died down and his sight improved, there wasn’t a soul to be seen. But just because he couldn’t see them, it did not mean they were not there. Still, Aramis was restless, it was not in his nature to sit idle and let such an opportunity pass by. His fingers worked at the rope around his neck, but the knot was tight, and he struggled to get any give out of it. It didn’t help that he couldn’t see. Instead he took a good look around and then tried the other end around the tree. Aramis smiled when it began to loosen. When the rope fell away entirely he took a good look around to make sure the Spanish were still sleeping and the men on watch were not in sight. Satisfied, he took off into the night, stepping carefully at first, and then near enough running when he was further out.

He couldn’t believe how easy it had been. Perhaps all the threats about men watching had just been empty ones. Maybe they were just trying to scare him into being compliant. They were going to get a surprise when-

Suddenly something collided hard with his back and Aramis hit the ground. He gasped at the air with the breath being driven from his lungs. It took his mind a moment to catch up as he was roughly turned over by a man straddling him. Something hard struck his face and the end of a pistol wavered in his eyesight.

“Where are you going, priest?”

He was shaken hard.

“Where do you think you are running to?”

The man had dropped on him from a _tree_ … Aramis was so occupied with his flight he hadn’t noticed a dark shape in the boughs above.

“On your feet.”

The Spaniard got up and took the length of rope still attached to Aramis’ neck. He gave a strangled cry as the man yanked on it until he was up. After gaining his feet the soldier side of Aramis started wondering if he could pull the rope from the Spaniard’s grasp and strangle him with it, but the pistol was pointed at Aramis as if he could detect such machinations.

He was led back to the camp where he was thrust to his knees before Romero. The man did not look too happy at having been woken.

“I am disappointed. I thought you said you understood what would happen if you tried to run?”

Aramis breathed harshly and dropped his gaze to the ground.

“You clearly don’t understand, I will have to make you understand.” Romero reached down to Aramis’ chin and tipped his head back so their eyes could meet. “Know that I do not want to do this, but I am a man of my word, and I believe I said I would shoot you. Is that so?”

Aramis just glared.

“What did I say, priest?” There was a dangerous edge to Romero’s voice.

The hand at Aramis’ chin started to grip his jaw painfully tight.

“Answer me!”

Aramis swallowed hard and struggled to get his words out. “You would shoot me… if I ran.”

“And what did you just do?”

He felt like a child being chastised at his father’s feet. “I ran.”

“So you see, I must shoot you, how else are you going to learn?” The Spaniard’s tone changed, he almost sounded apologetic. And then he switched to Spanish and addressed his men. “ _Take him to the tree. Are you sure we’re entirely alone? I don’t want the noise attracting attention._ ”

The rope was thrown to Lucero and Aramis found himself being dragged back to the tree he had been bound to.

After some discussion one of the men on watch returned. “ _There are three men who have been hunting nearby. They have stopped for the night and they are not so close that we risk being seen, but a gunshot may be heard.”_

Romero nodded slowly and thoughtfully, but he took up his pistol and advanced towards Aramis all the same. Was he really going to shoot? It would be the height of foolishness. Aramis feigned a lack of understanding when it came to their words, he didn’t let it show on his face, but a spike of fear still assaulted his heart. He didn’t know this man. Romero might very well be a fool.

Frantic words suddenly spilled from Aramis’ lips. “You don’t have to do this. I understand. I was wrong to run away, I will stay with you-”

Romero cut him off. “I am a fair man, and a man of my word, as I said before. Do you think my men will respect me if I set out consequences and do not follow through? You had fair warning. Now you reap what you have sewn.”

He raised the pistol.

“I will stay! I will not run again!” Desperation tainted his voice as Aramis looked down the barrel of the gun.

Aramis closed his eyes and braced for impact. Instead he felt Romero take hold of his left wrist and pin his hand to the trunk. The cold metal of the barrel dug into his palm.

“Please…”

It lingered there for an endless moment before being pulled away. Aramis let out a slight sigh of relief.

“Lucky for you a shot may bring unfriendly eyes our way.” The gun was holstered. Though the Spaniard’s grip on Aramis’ wrist remained. “ _Mendez, come here, be ready_.”

The horse thief stepped forwards. So he had a name. While Aramis warily watched Mendez approach he failed to notice Romero reach behind his back.

With one swift movement a stiletto flashed in the the firelight and plunged into Aramis’ palm going through to the bark beyond. He surged forwards instinctively trying to get away, but Mendez pushed him back and covered his mouth. The scream Aramis let loose was smothered into nothing.

His hand was a mess of pain, Aramis longed to clutch it to his chest for some relief, but the dagger kept it pinned and any movement was agony. Even the slight twitch of his fingers set a fire alight in his flesh. Blood seeped around the narrow blade and wound a trail down Aramis’ wrist. With the dagger still embedded the blood loss wasn’t too bad. Not that that was any comfort to him. He tried to control his breathing, which had turned to harsh, stilted gasps. They were soon muffled by a gag Mendez tied tightly around his mouth.

When Mendez stepped away Romero leaned in. “Look at me.”

Aramis’ damp eyes remained glaring at the middle distance, so Romero reached forwards to grip him about the jaw and force him to look.

“Unfortunately I had to amend my promise a little, but the effect was much the same.” The Spaniard seemed to search his eyes. “Now you know I am a man of my word, you will have no cause to doubt me. Know this - if you try to run again I will shoot you, and it will be somewhere more lethal.”

Aramis’ eyes just rolled.

“Do you understand?”

He managed a nod.

“Good.”

Romero retreated back to his bedroll while the other men returned to watch or sleep. Aramis’ heart sank. He was going to be left there, hand pinned in agony, all night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to warn you - I won't be able to update every day, but while the going's good, here's another chapter :)
> 
> Also, I don't usually trigger warn my stories (they're full of floggings etc that you don't usually suffer in RL) but I feel I should mention this story contains a sort of emotional manipulation/abuse that might be more familiar.
> 
> That being said, here's another one. Enjoy!

Suddenly Aramis was brought to awareness by a flare of pain from his hand. He hadn’t really slept, but he wasn’t entirely awake either. Somewhere along the line the agony became a part of him and he drifted to another state of consciousness. The next thing Aramis knew his arm was falling, he drew it to his lap and curled around it. Mendez wrenched it away again and roughly wrapped a length of cloth around his palm.

Aramis managed to pull his head up, it seemed to have gotten heavier during the night. Fine tremors ran through his frame, despite the relative warmth of the morning. He tried to pay attention to the men around him, there was a mist hanging about the scene, although Aramis wasn’t sure if it was just in his head. He watched Mendez wipe off the dagger and offer it to Romero who was directing his men about. Romero didn’t spare him so much as a glance. Eventually Aramis was pulled to his feet and tied to the horse as he was before. They set off again.

At the back of his mind Aramis wondered at calling out, or trying to break away. Maybe he could alert those hunters. Romero’s men were being careful and quiet, overly so, they clearly feared discovery. But Aramis knew it was a faint hope. Even if he went in the right direction he wouldn’t get far. He would be dragged back as he was before, and Romero would have no qualms in killing him this time. Escape was not an option, not at the moment anyway.

As they trekked through the woods Romero glanced back at Aramis. “You bear pain unusually well for a priest.”

Aramis huffed a slight laugh and looked down at the hand he cradled against his other arm. “Faith is not for the weak. You cannot have met any flagellants.”

Romero just hummed thoughtfully. “Where were you going?”

For a moment Aramis considered his answer, but ultimately there seemed no point in lying. “To Foix, I was hoping to assist in rebuilding the abbey.”

“I thought your hands were too rough for having done nothing but clasp in prayer.”

“Some of us consider that God is best served by serving those of his children in need. He set me on a path that led to the world, and so I do what I can for the people I meet upon it.”

“And did God set you on this path? The one that led to us?”

“He did.”

“What can he mean by that do you think?”

“I cannot presume to know God’s mind. His purpose will reveal itself in time.”

Romero smirked at his non-answer and turned away again.

They lapsed into a tense sort of silence. Once again Aramis was finding it hard going, what with the heat and now his injury. He was relieved when Romero called a halt. 

The men sat down and shared out some food. Aramis tried not to flinch when Romero came to sit by him, but this time the Spaniard offered water. It was a world away from a dagger through the palm.

“How is your hand?”

Aramis stared at Romero with a note of disbelief. “It hurts.”

“But it has stopped bleeding yes? It is not causing you trouble?”

“It will heal.”

“Good, it was a lesson you had to learn, but do not mistake me - I have no wish to see you dead. I do not want to kill a priest, God has enough against me already.” Romero let out a laugh before turning serious again. “I will only kill you if you make me, and you understand now not to give me reason.”

He leaned in uncomfortably close and the air between them suddenly took on an oppressive quality.

“I… I do.”

Romero sat up and the air of intimidation fell away. “In another two or three days we will be free of these woods. What lies on the road we join ahead? Does the inn at the crossroads still stand?”

Aramis hesitated, the soldier in him wondered if he could possibly say anything to send them astray. But it seemed Romero had read his thoughts.

“Do not lie, priest. Lying is a sin, and you will just be giving me a reason...” The Spaniard took out his pistol and waved the barrel about Aramis’ face.

He swallowed hard. “The inn still stands, I was intending to stop there myself.”

At that Romero smiled wistfully. “I was little more than a boy when I saw it last.”

And then a gunshot split the fragile silence between the trees. Aramis flinched and Romero shot to his feet.

“ _Cassila, Lucero, find out what that was._ ”

The two men took off into the trees while the others fanned out and took concealed positions with their guns. Aramis ducked down into the undergrowth. He found himself being pushed down by a knee in his back moments later.

“Don’t even think about it.” The voice of Mendez hissed from somewhere above.

A tense few minutes passed while they listened intently to the silence. It felt like hours. And then a voice called out.

“ _Bring him over here! What happened?_ ”

Mendez hauled Aramis to his feet and brought him back to the middle of the camp. Cassila and Lucero had another man between them. He looked in a bad way, blood blossomed down his shirt front.

“ _Fight with hunters… Herrera dead._ ” As the man spoke his lips turned red.

They set him down on the ground and Aramis instinctively moved forwards to help. Mendez pulled him back. “Please, I have experience with such wounds.”

Mendez looked to Romero who gave a quick nod. Aramis moved to the side of the stricken man and pulled his shirt open. At seeing the damage he let out a sigh, the shot must have clipped a lung. The blood seeping from his lips said as much. Aramis was about to call for a bag from his horse, but there was not much to be done…

“Sit him up, let me see if the shot went through.” Not that it mattered.

A quick examination revealed the bullet was still inside. Aramis brushed a frustrated hand across his face.

“ _Did you kill them all? Did any get away?_ ” Romero questioned his man desperately.

He was gasping horrendously now. Speaking would be too much. But still he managed. “ _Dead..._ ”

“ _Good, good. You did well_.” Romero clutched the man’s shoulder.

“I can try to get the shot out, but his lung is damaged.” Aramis tried to convey with a look that there was no hope.

Romero nodded even as his expression darkened. He took out a cloth and held it tightly over the poor man’s nose and mouth. The others hovered and hesitated, as if wondering whether to stop him. It wasn’t long before the small sounds of suffering ceased.

Romero got to his feet and turned away, speaking solemnly over his shoulder as he went. “Bury him quickly, we must be on our way.”

It was left to Aramis to say a few words over the body.

**~oOo~**

They pressed on. The solemn air hanging over the company dissipated as they drew nearer and nearer to the edge of the woods. A tension ran through them, knowing their cover would soon have to be relinquished. Rest stops became more infrequent, luckily the last stop was by a stream. Aramis was glad of the chance to splash some cool water on his face, and bathe his hand. The dried blood washed away and Aramis could see that the wound was closing well. He would rather have stitched it if he had the means and a friendly pair of hands, but considering the situation he was thankful that it wasn’t festering. Aramis managed to curl his fingers a little with a wince. Luckily the dagger had been a stiletto, the narrow blade had cut through flesh and left all else in tact. It hurt, but he would retain the use of his fingers. Mendez helped him wrap it, the man had been like a shadow to Aramis. Then they were on the move once more.

Some hours later Cassila returned from scouting and informed them that the road was fast approaching. Romero called them all to a halt and turned to address his company.

“ _We are going to be out in the open. You cannot display any fear, you cannot stoke any suspicion. If any man has fear in his heart I will shoot him here and now._ ” Romero took out his pistol and let it roam the gathered faces. “ _We pass as travelling traders. Forget who you are. Ready yourselves._ ”

The next moment they all burst into activity, taking clothes out of packs and concealing all but the most essential civilian weapons.

“ _What of the monk?_ ” Lucero called out.

“ _If there are clothes to spare, dress him as one of us._ ” Romero answered.

Aramis found a simple set of clothes being thrust at him. He held up the shirt to examine. It was of a rough material and poorly made.

“Put those on.”  Lucero demanded.

Aramis looked around at the gathered men and hesitated.

Romero called down from his horse. “Do as he says. This is no time for modesty, priest.”

But still he stood unmoving. It was not perhaps modesty that held Aramis back. He had just worn a cassock ever since he had left… The thought of his brothers loomed large in Aramis’ mind, he shook his head to try and remove them. Besides, taking off his cassock would feel like he was casting away his divinity. It was not something he wished to relinquish.

“ _Get him changed._ ” Romero’s voice pierced the fog of Aramis’ mind.

The next thing he knew hands were on him. Instinctively Aramis fought against them, but he received a fist to his face for the trouble. While the world wheeled around him he felt the cassock being pulled away. As his vision righted he found himself on his knees in nothing but his braies, staring up at Romero. Laughter came from the men all around him, but Romero looked Aramis up and down in a strangely calculating manner.

Nakedness had not overly bothered Aramis before. But now he felt naked in body and soul, they had stripped his divinity away from him. There was nothing left but a threadbare shirt. Tentatively Aramis reached for it and began to pull it on over his head. The material scratched against his skin most uncomfortably. Once he was dressed he looked around at the gathered men, some had finer clothes than others. Romero had the finest of course, and Aramis was given the dregs. They now looked like a gathering of decent tradesmen, rather than hardened soldiers.

Moments later Romero gave the word to move out. This time Aramis was allowed to walk freely, although Cassila and Mendez flanked him closely. He supposed it would look suspicious if they had a fellow tradesmen at the end of a rope.

The road was quiet, and for that Aramis didn’t know whether to be thankful. On one hand it meant less trouble, but on the other it meant the Spanish soldiers were less likely to be discovered. Polite greetings were exchanged with the few travellers that passed by. Aramis longed for them to stop and spot something to raise suspicion. He even considered trying to alert them, but they did not look to his alarmed expression, and Mendez was too close to risk reaching out and tugging a sleeve.  

Hours passed by slowly, Aramis sweated through the uncomfortable shirt. Eventually Romero sent one of his men ahead to scout for the inn. It wasn’t long before he returned.

The scout swiped a hand across his damp forehead and looked up to Romero. “ _There are only two horses in the stable_.”

“ _Shame, I was hoping an inn would have more._ ”

“ _It is very quiet, there are only three in there, and that’s including the innkeeper._ ”

Romero bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose before suddenly shouting. “ _Damn it all! We would make much better time if we were all mounted… but no matter, we will take these two and see what fortune lies ahead._ ”

By the time they reached the inn only one horse remained, to Romero’s ire. One of the patrons had no doubt ridden off. It was getting late, and they needed to start thinking about settling for the night.

“ _How do you like the sound of a nice soft bed my friends?_ ” Romero looked around the gathered faces. They seemed to like that idea very much. “ _Since it is so quiet I think we might risk stopping at the inn for tonight. It would be a good opportunity to stock up on supplies as well. Mendez, go inside and see that it is still safe for us. Take the priest with you_. _I want to see what he does._ ”

Aramis looked to Romero with confusion, but the Spaniard was giving nothing away with his slight smile.

Mendez took a tight grip on Aramis’ arm and pushed him forwards. “Come with me.”

“What? Why are we-”

“Do not question. Just come.” The Spaniard growled.

The inn was mostly in darkness as they approached. When they stepped inside a roaring hearth lit the main room, an old sword graced the wall above it. There were no patrons to speak of, it was a room full of empty chairs at empty tables. A young woman stood wiping tables down with a damp cloth. Some part of Aramis instinctively wanted to smile at her, it was an instinct he had worked hard to clamp down on, so he just gave a polite nod as she looked up.

Before either of them could address her an older man stepped forwards from behind the bar to take their attention.

“Good evening gentlemen, may I get you anything?”

Mendez surveyed the room before addressing the man. “It is very quiet here tonight, I take it you have some rooms free?”

“Indeed, all of them in fact. Trade just hasn’t been what it was since the war. So many have fled north in fear.”

“But not you?”

“No, this inn is my livelihood, and my father ran it, as well as my father’s father before him. I cannot so easily abandon it.” A look of disgust passed his face. “Not like certain members of the nobility I could mention…”

“Oh?” Mendez raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, there’s a house not far from here fit for a king, belonged to some relative of that de Luynes fellow. He upped and left at the first signs of trouble. Left it to wrack and ruin. I’ll see this inn in that state over my dead body.”

“Well, not all men are of such strong a spirit I fear.” Mendez gave a tight smile. “My friends and I would be happy to take some of those rooms for the night. A few drinks and a meal would be most welcome as well. Why don’t you go and fetch them?”

Mendez turned to Aramis and motioned towards the door. For a moment his mind reeled. He couldn’t believe that he was being allowed out alone. But Romero’s words came back to him… _I want to see what he does_ … The rope around his neck may no longer be there but he was still bound to them, despite appearances to the contrary.

Aramis went to the door and stepped outside. He took a deep breath of the cool night air and peered into the surrounding darkness. All was silent… Breath after breath, nothing moved. He couldn’t see anybody, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t see him. Still, something inside him thought about running. His mind started calculating how far he could get, which way he should run, how many would pursue… _I want to see what he does_ … This was a test. He could run and be put to death or return to them and garner trust. Perhaps that was the better way. Perhaps he could bring them down by playing along.

And so Aramis walked slowly towards the place where he had left the small company. A whistle alerted him to their presence off to one side.

Romero stepped forwards with an appraising look upon his face. “Well?”

“The rooms are all free, there is nobody there but the innkeeper and what I assume is his daughter. Mendez asked me to fetch you.”

“Good.” Romero turned to his men to make arrangements for a watch on the road, and then they made their way to the inn.

The innkeeper was pleased to see so many. He eagerly furnished them with food and drink, and engaged them in conversation. Some of the men seemed irritated by his chatter but Romero was quite happy to grease the wheels and keep up their deception.

The Spaniard took a sip of his wine. “Ah, if I am not mistaken this comes from the abbey of Saint-Hilaire!”

“Quite right Monsieur! They have supplied me for many years, we are quite lucky to have them so close by. Those monks are certainly skilled with their drink.”

“Very fine.” Romero took another sip. “It is very fine indeed.”

He clearly knew enough of the area to spin a believable tale and the more the wine flowed the more he spun. But Romero slipped up now and then by mentioning people Aramis knew to be dead, or tradesmen he knew were no longer in business. He just hoped the innkeeper didn’t realise… or perhaps he did. Still, a confrontation between the innkeeper and Romero would not end well for the former.

Finally the innkeeper and his daughter brought out the food. When Aramis’ plate was set before him she noticed his wrapped hand.

The girl took it delicately and Aramis’ eyes wandered up to her own. “Oh, are you hurt? If you like I have an ointment that would help. My mother once showed me-”

Romero suddenly clapped Aramis’ arm down to the table, his hand slipped violently from her grip. “He’s fine.”

Aramis had winced at the impact, but he tried to offer her a reassuring smile all the same. She gave a tight smile in return and retreated to the back.

It had been a while since the company had eaten anything decent. It was hard for them not to set upon the food like starved dogs, but they were determined to enjoy the food and wine while they could. As the night wore on Romero placed a possessive arm across Aramis’ shoulders as he bellowed his stories. Aramis flinched away and tried to sink down into himself. He was relieved when they decided to retire to bed.

“You’re with me.” Romero clutched at Aramis tightly and pushed him towards a room.

After lumbering about and rooting around in his pack Romero pulled out a length of rope.

“You’re on the floor.” He dragged Aramis over to the only bit of furniture in the room - a heavy set table - and began clumsily tying him to it. “Try to get away and I’ll kill you.”

As Romero straightened Aramis gave a pull at the rope, it did nothing more than set a flare of pain off in his hand. The Spaniard might have had a few drinks, but he could still tie a good knot.

“Look at you there, like a dog at my feet.” Romero gave him a half hearted kick as if he were an unwelcome mutt under the dinner table. “What do you think God means by making dogs of his servants eh?”

Not in the mood for his captor’s drunken musings, Aramis turned away.

“I asked you a question, priest.” Another kick accompanied the words.

“To be a dog is no insult. He created all creatures, they are all beloved by Him. Even dogs.”

“Then perhaps I should have you eat from the floor if you’re so content down there.”

“I would rather eat from the floor than share a table with men who are worse than beasts.”

For a moment Aramis expected to be struck for his insolence. Romero loomed over him, a dangerous look took his eyes, and then it passed… “Lucky for you the drink has lightened my mood, otherwise you would pay dearly for that. But make no mistake, if you do try to escape I will kill you, understand?”

A moment of silence hung between them.

“I understand.”

Aramis sighed as Romero snuffed out the candle and collapsed into bed. It was not going to be a comfortable night.

**~oOo~**

It was still dark when Aramis was woken by a frantic knocking at the door.

“Romero! Romero, wake up! We’ve got trouble!”

Eventually the Spaniard roused and opened the door. “What is it?”

“You have to come, the lads on watch caught the girl riding away.”

Romero swore and slammed the door shut behind him.

Aramis was left in darkness, his heart pounding in his chest. His imagination was running wild with the possibilities, and they became more dire as he heard raised voices and muffled screams from below.

It was not long before Mendez came to free Aramis and haul him down the stairs. When he got to the bottom he found the innkeeper and his daughter tied to chairs. Her face was dark with bruises and wet with tears, while her father trembled in shock.

Romero approached and put his hands on Aramis’ shoulders. “Unfortunately it would seem our curious friend put his nose where it was not wanted. He sent his daughter to raise the alarm, and so here we are.” He turned to take a pistol from Lucero. “I want you to shoot him.”

Aramis took the offered pistol and frowned. “What?”

“Shoot him.” Romero motioned towards the innkeeper who shook his head frantically. “I want you to do it.”

“I can’t.” Aramis voice shook and he tried to hand the pistol back, but Romero would not take it.

“I know you are a man of God, and the thought of killing must be distasteful. But this must be done.” He put a hand to Aramis’ shoulder. “Killing is not so bad. Did not God himself kill so many firstborn sons? Death is his work, as much as life.”

“Please, spare them.” Aramis tried.

“Kill him, or I will kill all three of you.” Romero took Aramis’ damaged hand and gave it a cruel squeeze. “And you know I am a man of my word.”

Aramis hissed in a breath against the stab of pain and raised the pistol at the innkeeper. He couldn’t see a way out of this. There _was_ no way out of this. Not without somebody dying.  

As soon as he took aim the girl went frantic. She begged them, before threatening that guards would come. “I reached the outskirts of Carcassonne and screamed loud enough to wake the dead when your men took me. Guards will be on the road even as we speak!”

“And you will be dead and we will be long gone by the time they get here.” Romero switched to Spanish and ordered a couple of men out to watch the road. “Shoot, priest. Shoot him or I will shoot you all.”

Aramis’ finger trembled against the trigger. And then the thought blossomed in his head… he could shoot Romero. He knew what would happen afterwards. The other men would set upon him. He would be dead within moments, but at least he would be free of this cruel man and his soul would not be stained by cold blooded murder.

Aramis’ breath came harshly as he wrestled with his mind. His arm shook minutely. And then he whirled it around to aim the pistol between Romero’s eyes. In an instant Aramis had a host of guns and blades pointed his way.

Romero remained strangely calm, a lopsided grin took his face. “You won’t do it.”

“How do you know?” Aramis gasped out.

“Because I do.” Came the infuriating answer. “Lower the pistol, priest. If you are not going to shoot me, and you are not going to shoot him, lower it and I will shoot all of you.”

Tension clogged the room, the air felt too thick to breathe. Aramis’ finger twitched, and then he began moving the pistol away…

A shot cracked the air, but it came from outside and some distance away.

“The guards are coming! I told you!” The girl shouted, before Lucero struck her across the face.

Romero growled and wrenched the pistol from Aramis’ grip. “Get them into the back.”

The innkeeper and his daughter were removed from the chairs and shoved into a back room.

“Get this room straight, if guards come in do not let them see anything amiss.” Romero took a position behind the bar and after righting a few chairs and tables Cassila pushed Aramis down into a seat.

Day was just starting to dawn and the lightening sky let them see four men on horseback approach. They dismounted and two made for the door while the other two went around the back.

“Monsieur, is there any trouble? We heard shots.” Romero asked in a most concerned voice.

“Armed men on the road, possibly bandits. They’ve been taken care of. But we came in search of a lady in distress taken away on this road, and there was no lady with them.” The guard looked about the room, settling his gaze on each man within. “Has anybody here witnessed anything untoward of that nature?”

“It has been quiet here, my friend. May I get you a drink?”

The guard ignored Romero’s question. “And the rest of you? Seen nothing?”

They uttered their negative responses and the guard narrowed his eyes. “Where is Auclair?”

“Ill, I’m his brother, I’ve just come to lend a hand until he’s better.”

“And his daughter?”

“Busy caring for him.”

The guard wandered around the rest of the room, and came to stand before Cassila and Aramis. “What is your business here?”

“I am a trader, travelling to Carcassonne.” Cassila answered while Aramis sweat nervously at his side.

The room felt like a powder keg ready to explode at the wrong word. The other guard by the door kept watch over them all closely while his companion roamed about.

“Where did you come from?”

“Foix, but I thought I might have better luck with my wares in Carcassonne. The people there have finer tastes I’m sure.”

“And what is it you trade in?”

“Whatever takes my fancy at a good price. Scarves, toys, hair brushes... if you know where to look there are bargains to be had and those willing to pay more than enough to take them off your hands.”

“Let me see your bags.”

Cassila shifted uneasily. “Very well, I will need to retrieve them from my room. One moment please.”

Just as he got to his feet a shot rang out from the bar. The guard spun sideways, but Romero had only managed to clip his arm. All hell broke loose between Romero’s men and the guards. Aramis upended the table and took cover behind it. He had no weapons, and no means to defend himself. Before long the other guards joined in the fray. Aramis flinched at a thud against the table. As he looked out one of Romero’s men slid down and came to rest his vacant, dead eyes on Aramis. He quickly made the sign of the cross and divested the body of his pistol and shot. It was spent of course, so he went about reloading and hoped that he would be able to take a decent shot once he relinquished his cover. But just as Aramis made to stand he found the innkeeper bearing down upon him with the sword from above the hearth. Instinctively Aramis took the shot, and the innkeeper fell with a cry.

It alerted one of the guards. Aramis hadn’t even a chance to whisper that he was sorry before he was forced to take up the sword and fend off a series of blows. All of a sudden his soldiering instincts reared up and Aramis felt himself carried away by the flow of the fight. He took in everything around him. Two guards remained, Romero and Lucero fought one while he fought the other. The girl cried by the doorway. Bodies were littered all around and blood slicked the floor. The scent of it sent him back to another time, when he was something else. It ignited a long dead fire in his heart, but perhaps it had not died entirely, the flames were still there just waiting to be kindled. The sword felt a part of him. He struck again and again, seeking the opening that would let him sink it into flesh. This was no dance, no game. There were only targets and the hard won reward of blood. It was to be savoured, that sweet taste of ecstasy.  

Aramis thrust forwards, aiming for his opponent’s chest, but the man shifted to one side and circled his blade beneath Aramis’ coming in with a blow of his own. Without thinking Aramis shot back and used his damaged hand to swipe the blade aside. Pain flared, the mist cleared, and then Aramis realised they should not be fighting each other, they should be fighting Romero. They could defeat the Spaniard!

“Please! Stop!” Aramis shouted.

“Do you surrender?” The guard asked as he thrust again.

Aramis backed away as he turned aside the blow. “I’m not the one you want to be fighting!”

The guard just gave an incredulous laugh. Another thrust came and Aramis found himself backed into a corner. He wasn’t listening. It was kill or be killed…

When the next blow came Aramis crossed it and turned his wrist as he surged forwards. The tip of his sword found the guard’s throat and an awful spray of blood cascaded through the air as he withdrew.

Across the room the final guard fell. Romero, Lucero and Aramis all stood panting, staring at each other.

And then Romero smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t shoot me.” He approached Aramis and took in the body of the guard and the innkeeper. “Luckily I do not have to shoot you either. You did as I asked.”

Aramis let out a huff of air that could have been the ghost of a laugh - He had hardly been ‘asked’!

Romero clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done my friend, you have killed two today. You are truly a man of God now.”

A groan came from behind the bar and Cassila lurched to his feet, his face was bloody and he held his head.

“Check to see if any are alive. We need to go.” Romero’s eyes settled on the girl. She stood in the doorway, pale and shaking, holding on to the door as if it were the only thing keeping her on her feet.

Romero approached and gently took her arm. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry.”

He violently pulled her close and Aramis looked away just as the knife moved towards her throat. He couldn’t escape the choking, gagging sounds though.


	3. Chapter 3

They took what supplies they could and made off with the guard’s now abandoned horses. Romero was left with only three men: Lucero, Casilla and Mendez, who had merely been knocked out. It was a setback for sure. Once they were far enough away from the inn Romero had them ride into a copse off the road to rest and see to their injuries.

There was nothing more serious than cuts and bruises, unfortunately. A gash on Romero’s arm needed stitching, and Aramis set to work, although it made him sick to his stomach to be helping him like this.

Romero’s hand fisted in Aramis’ shirt as he began to pierce the skin. “ _We need to send word back. There are men in place near the border, hidden, to relay messages... we will need more men._ ”

“ _We may yet be enough._ ”

“ _To infiltrate the castle? No. I need men on the inside and outside supporting them. We need to weave a web that goes deep, and right under their noses. We will need more men for this to work._ ”

“ _What do you suggest?_ ”

“ _We hole up somewhere and send word requesting reinforcements. It will delay the mission, but it is better to do this properly or not at all._ ”

Mendez suddenly clicked his fingers. “ _I know just the place! The innkeeper mentioned a house gone to wrack and ruin, abandoned by one of de Luynes relations._ ”

“ _I have heard of such a place, but I am not sure where it is._ ” Romero settled his eyes on Aramis. “Priest, do you know of a house belonging to a de Luynes?”

For a moment the words stuck in his throat. But Aramis would appreciate a roof over his head as much as any of them. To help the Spanish would be to help himself in this instance. And it would give him more time to foil whatever plan they had concocted.

“I know it. It’s not far, I can take you there.”

Romero raised an eyebrow. Was he expecting more resistance or a negative answer? “Good.”

Aramis finished with the stitches and moved away from Romero, but the Spaniard suddenly reached out to grab his arm and pull him back. Aramis went rigid in his grasp.

“You have blood on your hands now, priest. Your first?”

He nodded his head slowly, regretfully.

“Blood of your own countrymen no less. Tell me, how did it feel to take the life of another?”

Exhilarating. Intoxicating. Exciting.

The feelings he had as a soldier. The ones that told him he was still alive, and those that he had cast aside since taking to the cloth.

He could not deny it had awoken something in him.

Aramis frowned as he considered his answer. Should he give the answer Romero was expecting, or the truth?

“It felt… good.” He settled for something simple, and true.

Romero laughed, his grip shifted to Aramis’ shoulder. “That would be a feeling called bloodlust my friend. It hides in the hearts of all men, even priests it seems.”

But a part of Aramis felt devastated, he felt he was losing his divinity, it was being pulled away from him piece by piece. First with the removal of his cassock, and now with the slaughtering of men.

It seemed Aramis’ devastation showed on his face. Romero gave his shoulder a friendly pat. “Do not look so sad. You must realise that men have killed men ever since men have been around to kill. Life comes cheaply, especially ours.”

“But, the teachings of God reject such wanton violence…” Aramis found himself voicing his doubts, almost against his wishes.

“And God made you as you are. He put that bloodlust in your heart. You should embrace it as a gift from God. It will keep you alive. You would have died back there if you refused to raise a hand in violence.”

And maybe it would have been better to die. His divinity was being stripped away from him, and he was becoming something else. Each piece that fell away seemed to reveal a monster beneath.

He had killed his own countrymen in time of war. There was a word for men who did that…

Traitor.

It loomed large and terrifying in Aramis’ mind.

But Romero seemed oblivious to the horror on his face. “We will rest a while and then move on. I want to reach this house before night fall.”

**~oOo~**

Now being mounted the group moved swiftly. Just a few hours passed before Aramis led them off the main road. They travelled down a path that seemed as if it was maintained meticulously at one point, statutes stood along it, and colourful rose bushes matched on either side. But they were overgrown, grass grew through the gravel, and the statutes had delicate parts broken off. Outstretched hands were missing, and a patina of dirt had blackened them. Eventually it led to a house that was more of a mansion. Definitely smaller than Athos’ estate but much bigger than anything Aramis could have hoped to own.

The men dismounted as they approached the doorway. Romero directed Lucero and Mendez to take the horses and look for a stable. The rest of them tried their luck with the door. It gave way with a little force and creaked open wide. Inside was a grand hallway, with a staircase and several doors leading off it. The same neglect outside was found inside. Decorated walls were now stained and peeling, the air felt musty to take in. The three of them moved forwards. All was quiet apart from their footsteps echoing around the empty space. They tried the door directly ahead and Aramis couldn’t help but utter a small gasp as they stepped through. The main room centred on a circular tower that went directly up and was surrounded by large windows at the top, although most of them appeared to be broken. A chandelier hung down from the middle, and a few birds roosting upon it took flight at their intrusion. A chorus of flapping crashed around the room, and a delicate feather or two floated down in front of Aramis’ face.

Beside him Romero growled. “Such extravagance. It’s shameful.”

It was beautiful, in a ruined sort of way. But Aramis took his meaning. Aramis supposed he himself had just become used to the opulence that surrounded life at the palace, even as he walked the streets and saw the contrasting poverty all around.

They moved on and searched through other rooms. A few bits of furniture had been left here and there, beds and tables, but most everything of value was long gone. Either taken by the nobles or stripped away in their absence. Eventually Lucero and Mendez joined them again, and they settled in a smaller room with a large hearth and a few chairs.

“ _Get a fire going, and take the priest down to the cellar. There’ll be one somewhere_.”

Aramis looked up in confusion and tried to pull away when Casilla took his arm.

“Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just a little walk, you’ll see.”

To resist would let them know he understood. And so Aramis begrudgingly went along.

Mendez led the way, looking into various rooms as they passed by. “ _How the other half live eh?_ ”

They went down some stairs and through a kitchen area. A few high windows at ground level were the only source of light. Mendez opened a door to a small side room and waved them over.

“What are you doing?” Aramis asked as he was thrust inside.

They didn’t answer. The door was shut and moments later there was the ominous sound of something heavy being moved against it. The room was pitch black, there were no windows and they had not even left him with a candle.

Aramis went to push against the door. It wouldn’t move. He frantically put all his weight behind it, but it did not shift an inch. He sighed and stilled. What was the meaning behind this? One minute Romero had a hand at his shoulder and he was treated as a friend, the next he was a prisoner again. Aramis shook his head and resigned himself to spending the night down here. He went to search around the room with his hands. His fingers brushed against nothing more than dusty shelves, and so he settled down against the wall and wrapped his arms around himself. It was going to be a long night.

**~oOo~**

Aramis was woken by the sound of scraping behind the door. He assumed it was morning, he couldn’t really tell being in darkness. When the door opened a flood of light spilled in around Romero’s shadowed frame. Aramis held up a hand to shield his eyes.

“Can I come out now?” He asked tentatively.

“Not yet.” Romero walked in and seemed to loom over Aramis. “What do you know of the road south of Quillan?”

“I know that it leads to the foothills of the Pyrenees.”

“And?”

“What more is there to know?”

The blow came from nowhere. Aramis felt an explosion of pain at his cheek and fell to one side.

“This is important, do not try me.”

Once Aramis recovered his breath he stuttered out his reply. “There is… a way through... crosses the border...”

Lucero’s voice filtered in from outside. “ _Then it must be common knowledge surely. The scouts said it was not well used, or watched, but that is old information by now. The French would be foolish to leave it unguarded._ ”

“Are there soldiers in those parts? What do you know of the military’s movements?”

“Nothing. I’m just a monk, I know nothing of such things!”

The silhouette of Romero’s fist rose, but then Lucero’s voice came in again. “ _Maybe he is telling the truth. I suppose monks know little of war_.”

“ _Don’t be so sure. There is something… something strange about him. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if he understands every word we speak._ ” Romero leered down at Aramis. _“Do you understand me? You French dog, do you know that I say your mother was a whore and your father a hopeless drunkard?_ ”

Lucero laughed in the background, while Aramis did his best to keep his expression blank.

“ _Even if he is telling the truth, he has been out amongst the people, and people like to gossip_.” Romero bent down to pull Aramis to his feet and push him against the wall. “You are telling me you have heard nothing? Not a single soul has spoken of seeing soldiers? You know what will happen if you lie.”

Aramis swallowed hard, clutching the hands that held him. “The people I deal with are more concerned with putting food on their plates than what seems to them a distant war.”

A twisted smile graced Romero’s face, just about visible in the gloom. “War will reach them eventually.”

He let Aramis go and abruptly turned to leave. The darkness closed in once again.

**~oOo~**

Aramis was supplied with food, water, and a bucket. Mendez and Casilla always brought the food to him, he saw nothing of Romero. Aramis couldn’t be sure how much time passed in the dark. Was it days or weeks? All he knew were periods of fitful sleep and a gnawing hunger that rose and waned. A weary sort of detachment fell on him. The threshold between dreams and reality seemed to waver. At first Aramis could tell the difference because his dreams were full of colour, they were full of blood, and voices he half remembered knowing. But reality was a quiet, dark room. And then he saw a face in the darkness. It disappeared when he blinked. He saw more… Ravens, hopping about, curiously watching, before melting away. He heard approaching horses, even knowing it was impossible for them to be down here. Aramis thought he had spilled his water, suddenly feeling wet. But the full cup was right there. He felt like he was beginning to go mad.

He had to get out.

Aramis made the decision - when the door next opened he would attack and escape. So he groped for the door and crouched down behind it. He would be ready.

It wasn’t long, but he wasn’t sure, it didn’t seem long, and the door was scraping open. Aramis surged to his feet and lashed out with a fist, pushing forwards with a yell. He caught Romero across the face, but Mendez was ready to step in. A blow to his ribs drove the breath from his lungs. When he dragged in another he screamed.

“Let me out!”

And then he was crashing face first into the wall, his arms were violently wrenched behind him.

Romero’s blood stained face pressed up close. “You struck me.” His voice was deceptively calm. “You know I never hurt you unless you gave me cause. What did you think striking me would do?”

Romero pressed his weight into Aramis, crushing him against the wall a little more. A slight whimper escaped.  
  
“What do you have to say for yourself? Nothing?” Romero wiped a hand beneath his nose and thrust it at Aramis’ face. “That is my blood you have spilt. You know what I have to do now, and you know that you brought this on yourself.”

Between one breath and the next Aramis was swung around and thrown back into the store room. He lost his footing and rolled against the hard stone floor. Romero was on him in an instant, lashing out with fists, kicking out at his ribs. Aramis curled up and raised his arms to try and protect himself from the raining blows. Romero swept them aside and took a tight grip on his throat.

“You do not raise your hand to me. Not ever. Do you understand?”

Aramis choked, feeling the darkness creep from the room and into his eyes. He managed a stilted nod, and was dropped abruptly. He lay heaving against the ground, every part of him felt on fire.

“I was going to bring you out, but not anymore. You can stay down here.”

“Please…” Aramis whispered hoarsely, but the only answer was the door slamming shut.

It was pitch black once again. Their footsteps faded away and Aramis was left listening to his own harsh breaths and the dull thud of his heartbeat.

**~oOo~**

Aramis was left alone for what felt like forever. He couldn’t see the lurid bruises that no doubt painted his body, but he could feel them. They flared and ached with every movement of his body. It was a mistake to attack Romero, he knew that. Although he hadn’t realised it would be Romero opening the door. Aramis shivered, it was cooler down here, below ground level, and he had nothing but a shirt on. His mind began to drift again, and he was sure he heard the sweet singing voice of a young woman. But when he tried to pinpoint where the voice came from it would move.

_Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child… Bye bye, lully, lullay… Herod the king, in his raging, charged he hath this day, his men of might in his own sight, all young children to slay..._

Eventually the voice became quieter and lapsed into whispered prayers. That’s when Aramis realised he was joining in, and perhaps the prayers had only come from between his own lips.

Romero visited, Aramis wasn’t sure whether it was hours or days later. He just knew he still hurt. He shied away from the meagre light of the candle Romero brought in. Even that was enough to hurt his eyes. It was clear the Spaniard was still angry. He flexed his fists and paced, until he swept down upon Aramis. Aramis tried to crawl away to the corner, but he didn’t make it far. Romero grabbed his ankle and pulled him back. No questions were asked this time, only violence was offered.

When Romero left him alone Aramis was kept company by phantoms that crawled out of the darkness.

_I’m not going to lie to you, Aramis. Your life cannot be saved._

Rochefort’s insidious voice wound around the room, and Aramis rubbed at his wrists, feeling echoes of a previous confinement. He could not be saved. He would be left here until there was nothing left of him. The room was filled with an absence that seemed to seep through Aramis’ skin so that he couldn’t be sure he was really there himself. Only the ghosts kept him tethered in this half life.

Curled and shivering in the middle of the room Aramis caught sight of something through the slow flickering of his tear stained lashes. He picked his head up and inhaled sharply. Marguerite leaned against the wall. Her sudden appearance shocked Aramis. He shot up and cried out, scrambling backwards until his bruised back flared in pain at hitting the wall. Aramis couldn’t tear his eyes away from her though. Marguerite’s gaze was fixed, her skin was pale, and she was still in a way that only came with the rigidity of death. It was a stillness that Aramis was intimately familiar with. He was once granted time in a far away forest to witness every moment of warmth fading and rigor mortis setting in. Twenty times over. Twenty times. Twenty one.

The dead lay unreconciled.

A thin layer of snow dusted the room as Aramis took in Marguerite’s vacant stare. Only one thing moved in the stillness. Her arms were locked around a bundle that wriggled. Aramis crawled closer on shaking limbs. Something drove him forwards, he wanted to save what he could if he could. With every inch Aramis gained the stillness infected the bundle Marguerite held in her dead arms. He stalled, his head dropped.

He should stay away.

He should have stayed away.

If he had kept his distance there would be no rigidity and stillness. There would have been breath and life.

But it was too late. Death had followed close on his heels again. It haunted his footsteps, stealing breath from the lives whose paths he crossed. When he turned to face it, to embrace it, it was gone.

Why not twenty two?

Come back.

Please.

Aramis’ abused arms gave out and he fell to the floor. His breath shuddered in and out and he closed his eyes as he felt the cold of the stone floor against his cheek. When he opened them he stared into blackness, he stared until the nothingness drove him to distraction. Aramis rubbed at his eyes furiously, desperate to see something, _anything_.

Anything but that.

Adele’s empty eyes lay an inch away. If she drew breath he would have felt it brush against his lips, but the air between them was still. Looking into her eyes he felt as if he stared into the void, her pupils were fixed and as black as the surrounding darkness. It was a mockery of the times he lay next to her, whispering sweet nothings, his fingers playing with a stray curl. Her eyes were bright and alive, not glassy and dead. Her complexion was blushed, not a sickly shade of grey. But the more he tried to remember Adele as she was the more this pale imitation was seared into his mind.

Why did he not stay away?

Aramis screwed his eyes tight shut. He only opened them when he felt a gentle hand run down the side of his face. He smiled. Adele was restored, her cheeks were rosy and her eyes alight with awareness. But when he reached out to touch her a hand clamped tight around his wrist with an unearthly strength.

Her soft lips parted, and a whisper chilled the air between them.

“You will become what you deserve.”

She brushed a hand over his eyes as if laying him to rest.

If he deserved anything, he deserved this.

**~oOo~**

Just as the phantoms distracted Aramis from Romero, when the ghosts became too much Romero was a distraction from the phantoms. He dealt out a pain that Aramis felt was deserved. The reasons became a tangled web in his muddled mind. He had hurt so many people, so many innocent people. He had even hurt Romero unintentionally.

Each time Romero came to Aramis he unleashed a fierce anger. Not much was said, apart from the occasional slur… _French dog!_ … Between outbursts Romero seemed distracted and even anxious. Often a frantic hand ran through his hair before he lay into Aramis again.

During this latest round Romero drew back, the sound of his harsh panting filled the room.

“I’m sorry…” Aramis muttered from between bloodied lips.

Romero frowned. “What did you say?”

“I… I am sorry. I should not have hit you. I did not mean to, I didn’t mean to make you angry.” Aramis dropped his head to the cold ground and closed his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes flew open again as he felt Romero drop to his knees beside him. But instead of a vicious strike, as he was used to, Romero gently clasped his hand. Still, Aramis let out an involuntary whine at the unexpected contact.

“Thank you.” Romero squeezed his hand. “You know you did wrong, you accepted your fault in this and apologised. You’ve won back some trust, and I do not trust so easily.”

“I’m sorry, Romero.” Aramis spoke again, as if the words could protect him.

“I know.” A strangely tender hand reached out to run down the side of Aramis’ face. “You’ve done well. So well.” Romero turned to pull the candle between them. “You’ve earnt this.”

He got to his feet and the door closed quietly moments later.

Aramis shuddered in a breath and let it out slowly, feeling his eyes filling up. Romero had left the candle with him, he was in darkness no longer. For the first time in a long time Aramis could see. That small flickering flame was like a blessing from God himself, and Romero was the angel who had brought it.

“And God said, let there be light, and there was light…” Aramis whispered as he watched the wax melt and run, just as tears ran down his own face.

He wanted to stay awake to appreciate the light. But Aramis’ aching body pulled him under for a time. He woke to find the candle nearly burnt out. Pushing himself up with a groan Aramis sat cross legged before the candle, begging it to stay alight. If he stared at it hard enough his sheer will might have kept it burning. He didn’t want the darkness, not again.

The moment came when the small flame flickered and died. Aramis threw his head back and screamed as the darkness blinded him once again. Having the light, even for such short a time, seemed to deepen the pitch black. It was like enjoying a warm summer’s day and suddenly being plunged into the depths of winter. The cold didn’t bite as hard when you lived with it day to day. Aramis opened his eyes wide, but it didn’t matter whether they were open or closed, it was all the same. He groped around, trying to find something, anything, to hold onto. Aramis lurched to his feet, stumbling around on pained legs, feeling around the shelves. But his hands only ran through thick layers of dust. He found the door and scrabbled against it, crying out helplessly without meaning to. He worked frantically at the handle before dropping to his knees, heaving breaths in and out. There wasn’t enough air, the walls were closing in. There wasn’t a world, just darkness, around him and through him. He couldn’t breathe, there was a void in his chest where his lungs should be.

And then the door opened. Aramis fell forwards to clutch around Romero’s legs. The Spaniard said nothing, he just waited for Aramis’ frantic breathing to calm.

“Thank you… thank you.” He whispered when he found his voice again.

Romero brought another candle along with some food. He set them down in the middle of the room and stepped back as Aramis scrambled forwards.

Aramis watched the candle as if it was his entire world.

“If I can trust you I will bring two next time.”

Aramis turned to look at him with hope in his eyes.

**~oOo~**

True to his word Romero brought two candles. Aramis made sure he was worthy of Romero’s trust and in return he was treated with such kindness.

And then one day Romero left the door wide open.

“Come with me.”

Aramis hesitated, unsure of what lay out there.

“It’s all right.” Romero held his hand out.

Aramis struggled to his feet and limped towards it. Romero took his arm when he was close enough. They stepped across the threshold and Aramis hid his face in the crook of his elbow at the sudden brightness of the world outside. Mendez stepped forwards to help guide Aramis along. He was trembling. He was free, and it was almost too much.

They came to a room upstairs with large windows. Aramis winced and hid his face again.

“ _Casilla, close the drapes_.”

The drapes were worn and riddled with holes, but they blocked the light enough for Aramis to bear. He squinted around the room. A fire crackled in the hearth, the three men seemed to have made this their room to settle in.

Romero sat in a chair in the middle of the room and Mendez led Aramis to stand before the fire. He felt his back warm as he faced the Spaniard.

“ _Who are you?_ ”

Romero spoke in Spanish and so Aramis kept his face impassive.

“ _I know you can understand me. Drop the pretence._ ”

Still he showed no reaction.

“ _Take off your shirt._ ”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re saying.” Aramis tried.

Romero smiled slyly. “ _I think you do. I brought you up here because I thought I could trust you. If I cannot you will have to go back…_ ”

A look of horror took Aramis’ face then. He dropped to his knees and clasped his hands as if in prayer. A stream of Spanish slipped between his lips. “ _Please, don’t take me back! You can trust me! I’m sorry! I should have told you, I shouldn’t have kept it secret… I will accept what punishment you deem fit, but don’t take me back down there!_ ”

“Hush, hush… there is no need for that. Get up.” Romero waited for Aramis to gain his feet. “I knew it. I’ve watched you listening so intently to our conversations, you gave yourself away with such little things. The looks of confusion at my words, the way you knew I wanted the location of this place before I asked in your language… if it is your language.”

“I am sorry. I await your punishment.” Aramis hung his head.

“There will be no punishment. You told me the truth when I asked. You’ve shown me I can trust you. Just make sure to tell me the first time I ask in future.” Romero gave an easy smile. “I want to trust you. Take off your shirt.”

Aramis did as he was asked straight away. His filthy shirt dropped to the ground at his feet.

“You are not a monk. At least you haven’t always been one.” Romero got to his feet and approached Aramis. He ran curious fingers over the scars that marred Aramis’ body. “I suspected when I saw you change. How would a monk come by gunshot wounds? And then the way you fought...”

Aramis had never felt so vulnerable before, standing half naked with Romero breathing down his neck.

The Spaniard leaned in close to whisper. “What were you?”

Aramis stood up straight and swallowed hard. “A musketeer… I belonged to the king’s musketeers.”

“A guard of the king!” Romero stepped back with a laugh and dropped into his chair once again. “All this time I thought I had a monk and here stands a man who no doubt knows the palace as well as the back of his hand!”

“I am sorry, I should have told you…”

Romero waved a hand. “No matter, no matter. Just be sure to tell me anything you think I need to know.”

“There is one thing.”

“And what is that?” Romero sat forwards eagerly.

“My name. It’s Aramis.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

_You asked me to teach you chess and I've done that. It's a useful mental exercise._  
_Through the years many thinkers have been fascinated by it, but I don't enjoy playing._  
_Do you know why not?_  
_Because it was a game that was born during a brutal age when life counted for little_  
_and everyone believed some people were worth more than others._  
_Kings and pawns._

Aramis was allowed to stay in the room with them, much to his relief. He slept on blankets before the fire with Casilla and Mendez taking turns on a chaise longue. There was always one on watch. Romero retreated each night to a bed in the next room and left them to it.

Their days were spent playing cards and dice. Casilla and Mendez went out to scout the grounds, collect firewood and hunt. Romero often stood looking out of the window, his hands clasped behind his back. Aramis watched all the activity from his pile of blankets. Occasionally he shuffled to the table to join a game, but his bruised and aching legs made it difficult.

Thus far Romero had treated him with kindness, bringing food and water, more or less making sure he was comfortable. Aramis had expected an interrogation as soon as he revealed he was a musketeer, but Romero hadn’t pushed him. Perhaps the light touch was in deference to his weakened condition. Aramis could not blame Romero for causing it, the blows were well deserved.

They spoke in Spanish with the truth having been revealed. Aramis found himself slipping comfortably into using the language. He hadn’t spoken it regularly since leaving home, on the odd occasion it came in useful for a mission, and sometimes a few curse words slipped out. It was still there when he needed it.

He watched Romero standing quietly at the window. The sun was going down, he wouldn’t have much light left to see by soon.

Aramis cleared his throat. “What are you looking at?”

“A pair of magpies, but I suspect you mean to ask what I am looking for.” Romero turned with a furtive smile on his face.

Aramis dipped his head.

“Lucero. He is long overdue. If you’ve been listening to our conversations, you’ll know where he went.”

To find the passage through the mountains...

“What will you do?”

“Wait.”

At that moment Casilla came in with an arm full of firewood. He set it down and retreated to the table, shuffling the deck of cards. “Will you play, Romero?”

“Mendez will be back soon, you can play with him.”

Casilla shrugged and reached for a book instead. There was a small library in the mansion. Many of the books were missing or ruined, but there was more than enough to occupy them.

Romero came to sit in a chair by the fire and indicated that Aramis should build it up. The light was beginning to wane and the temperature would soon be dropping.

When he was done Romero patted the seat next to him. “Come sit with me, Aramis.”

He did as he was asked. Romero seemed to study him for a moment.

“Now, tell me, how does a musketeer become a monk?”

Aramis stared at the fire, momentarily absorbed by the rising flames as he considered his answer.

“A promise to God as I sat imprisoned, waiting for my death sentence to be carried out.”

Romero frowned at hearing that. “You were sentenced to death? What for?”

The ghost of a smile crossed Aramis’ lips as the fire danced in his eyes. “Would you like to know a secret?”

“Go on.”

“The Dauphin is my son.”

A grin spread across Romero’s face. “And Casilla here is the queen’s mother.”

“It’s the truth.”

Romero looked at him uncertainly for a moment.

“I made a mistake… _many_ mistakes.” Aramis corrected. “It all started when we took the queen to bathe at Bourbon-les-eaux.”

And so the whole sorry tale came out.

Romero’s jaw was nearly on the floor by the end of it. “You mean to tell me that you are the father of the future king of France?”

“Indeed.”

“The future king of France is a bastard half commoner!” He laughed. “Now there’s a thought, and a happy one at that. Though I suppose he will be raised to think himself one of them, we can but hope that blood will out eventually.”

“You do not care much for the nobility.” It was a statement more than a question.

“And why should I? They care nothing for us. We are but pawns in a great game of chess.”

“The pawns have more freedom than the king.” Aramis pointed out wryly.

“And the queen runs rings around them all.” Romero gave Aramis a knowing look. “But we fall and there is no consequence. Line after line of men left bleeding in the dirt, cut to pieces, while _they_ hide in the back.” Something darkened Romero’s features as he stared at the fire. “Look at us... both soldiers in somebody else’s war.”

Aramis cleared his throat quietly. “I am not a soldier any more.”

“You would like to think that. But you will always be a soldier, it is what they made of you. They took a young lad and fashioned him into a weapon. No wonder you felt the thrill of the fight. But tell me, of all the men you have killed on the battlefield how many did you actually _want_ to kill? If you met them in a distant street half a world away, with no armies, no banners, no kings or queens, would you still leap forwards to slit their throat?”

Aramis hesitated. “I… I cannot say that I would.”

“Why do you fight, Aramis?”

“For honour, for duty.”

“No, that is the lie. That is what every leader tells their men so that they believe they fight on the side of the righteous - It is honourable. To die in battle is honourable… pah! It is foolish. To give your life in exchange for another man’s vanity. Many wars begin because some high born fool takes offence from another, because he fancies expanding his borders or because of a difference in beliefs. Duty is just doing what these people tell you to do. We are worse than the basest of animals in that. Wild animals will kill to defend their lives or feed themselves. We fight and slaughter because other men tell us to, it is a most unnatural thing. Examine your reasons and tell me again: why do you fight, Aramis?”

The more Aramis thought about it, the more sense it made. He was given a gun and became quite good with it. In his youth he didn’t particularly think or care much about the machinations that happened far above his head. Fighting brought him to life, it set his blood on fire, and so he cut men down at his commander’s behest.

“Because I was told to.”

He was given orders, and followed them. Aramis’ own words suddenly came back to haunt him. _We follow our orders, no matter where they lead, even to death._ Twenty two men followed Treville’s orders, and Treville followed the king’s orders. The result was two left alive, and too many wives and children left bereft. It was a few words for the king, simple words formed between a pair of lips and a tongue. They were the deadliest weapons of all.

“And why do you fight, Romero?” After all, they both sat here as soldiers.

“The same reason as you. I was made into a weapon, long ago now. I have killed for my country for so long I know no other way of life. I may realise the foolishness of what I do, but I still do it. It is what I am good at. They tell me to come here and kill Frenchmen, so I come here and kill Frenchmen.” Romero let out a long sigh. “We all march in lines like lambs to the slaughter, I cannot change that. I can at least turn my sword against your nobility, even if I cannot touch my own.”

They were both trapped in systems of madness it seemed.

Romero continued. “I am at least blessed to serve under a man who has as little regard for their ilk as I do. The mission he has sent me on will strike at the heart of the French command, it will take them out directly rather than plough through lines of the undeserving. Perhaps the men will see sense and surrender when not pressed forwards by those from above.” Something in his voice changed, he seemed to stare at the fire and become strangely distant. “They hold so much power, those that sit on thrones and those that surround them. Yet they are so far removed from what we do. I sometimes wonder if they see war as a game they play, like innocent children. They push us around as pieces on a board, not knowing or comprehending what actually happens. It’s either that, or they know, and they don’t care. I don’t know which is worse.”

Aramis gave a small smile as he thought of Louis. The comparison to a child was not far off the mark. But all this talk of the nobility brought another man to mind.

“I was friends with a Comte once.”

Romero turned to give him a pitying look. “He was not your friend, not really.”

Something in Aramis bristled at that. “I counted him as a brother, he had renounced his title. He wanted nothing to do with his lands or his people. He was one of us.”

“And what happened to his people?”

“They…” Aramis tailed off at recalling their time in Pinon. He had meant to defend Athos, but that story would not cover him in glory. “They were preyed upon by another Baron. Their crops were destroyed… They suffered.”

“See, the high born are selfish, the lot of them. Your Comte neglected his responsibility to those people, he abandoned them. He left them defenceless against the selfish desires of another of his kind. He failed his people and he would have failed you sooner or later.”

“But he fought alongside me. He was another solider, like us.” Aramis couldn’t help but feel he was grasping at straws.

“They wear whichever mask suits their purpose. Have no doubt that he would have dropped you the moment it suited him. You’re better off without him, believe me. And where is he now, this Comte? I doubt he is fighting alongside the soldiers in the dirt now war has broken out.”

“He was made captain just as I left for the monastery.” Aramis turned his downcast eyes on the fire and recalled the moment his brothers rode after him. Athos was demure as ever. It was left to Porthos to excitedly break the news of his captaincy.

“Ah, of course. I’m sure he’s safe behind the lines watching his men get slaughtered. That’s if he’s on the battlefield at all. He’s probably in some far away tent sipping wine. They always find their way to power, his sort. How many other deserving men were looked over I wonder? What of yourself?”

“I was gone when the appointment was made.”

“What about before then? Who gave the orders? Who took command?”

“It was… Athos.” Aramis hadn’t really considered it before but now he thought about it he realised how effortlessly Athos seemed to slip into that role. “He hadn’t any rank above the rest of us, but we all looked to him. I had served longer than him as well, longer than most of them in fact.”

The more Aramis thought about it, the stranger it seemed.

“Then why were you not under consideration for captain? Why were you not the one they looked to?”

Aramis hesitated in his answer. “Perhaps I was just not made to lead...”

“Nonsense, what made this Athos any better than you? Was he a paragon of virtue? Some flawless warrior of renown?”

“No, he was renowned only for his drunkenness, and though he was a skilled swordsman, I could outshoot every man in the regiment.”

“Then nothing put him above you, apart from the circumstance of his noble birth. I tell you, his sort always seek power. Like dogs scenting a rabbit they go after it relentlessly, you didn’t stand a chance.”

“Our captain was made minister for war, I suppose he’ll be next in line for that position too.” Aramis uttered with a hollow laugh.

“Too true, my friend. They are not like us. Whatever he told you, whatever he pretended to be, he could never be one of us.”

Aramis gave a sad smile and rubbed at his eyes.

“Get some rest. I need to see where Mendez has got to.” As Romero rose he clapped a companionable hand on Aramis’ shoulder.

Aramis watched the Spaniard leave before he went to his pile of blankets and settled down to sleep. He closed his eyes, but as he drifted away his thoughts circled around Athos and how he might not have been what he seemed…

**~oOo~**

Once the bruises had faded and Aramis was able to walk without limping he was allowed to accompany the others outside. Although he was doing nothing more important than collecting firewood most of the time, it showed Romero trusted him, and something in Aramis was pleased at that.

Aramis enjoyed being out in the fresh air. It was a world away from that small, dark cellar. Though he did his best to put it to the back of his mind, that place lurked like a shadow just out of sight. Aramis found that he kept glancing up at the sky, a habit which his companions eventually noticed and laughed at. It gave him a sense of peace though. If he could see the sky he knew he was far away from the dark hole he had been trapped in. The clouds passing lazily by held his attention, and he envied the freedom of the birds flying overhead. His favourite time came just as evening fell and the light started to fail. Countless birds took to the skies and returned from the fields to roost in the surrounding trees. The sky nearly turned black with them. Their cries entwined into one desperate discord, but Aramis didn’t find the cacophony grating. It was wondrous to behold.

And there he would stand until Casilla or Mendez called him in.

He stood there now, just waiting for the birds to take flight. It was a little early yet, but they would come. Casilla’s derisive voice telling him to collect wood faded into the background as he took his vigil. Soon enough a bird appeared, joined by another, and then another. More and more followed on their heels until the sky was painted with a flurry of feathers. Their calls reached a crescendo, and then Aramis felt a presence beside him.

He looked around to find Romero.

There was a hint of a smile on his face. “Casilla tells me you refuse to work.”

“How can you look at the ground and pick at wood when there is this to behold up above?” Aramis held his arms wide and raised them to the sky.

“The birds will not keep you warm at night.”

“The birds remind me that I’m still alive.” He turned his attention back to the display across the heavens.

“I could have told you that if you wanted me to.”

Aramis was quiet as his mind drifted along with the birds. Then his voice took on a detached dreamlike quality. “I once stepped on a bird when I was younger. It was a mercy killing. The poor creature was injured beyond saving. But I couldn’t sleep for a week afterwards. I kept feeling its bones breaking beneath my feet.”

And some part of him began to wonder, in a snow touched scene, surrounded by ravens, whether they had come for revenge… 

“So you were not always filled with bloodlust.” Romero’s hand found his shoulder. “It is something to hold onto, a reminder you were not born like this, but made like this.”

“I think you might be right.”

“About what?”

“About everything.” Aramis tore his eyes away from the sky and looked to Romero. “I was once part of a mission which saw twenty musketeers dead. They were slaughtered all around me, half while they slept. We did not stand a chance. I suffered long afterwards, from injuries and nightmares. Often I wondered why I had been spared, often I wished I hadn’t…” Romero’s hand tightened, and Aramis struggled to hold his grief at bay. The grief soon gave way to anger. “Our position was given to the men who attacked us. Our own _captain_ had passed it on. The King ordered him to, so he considered it his duty.”

Aramis swallowed heavily around the lump in his throat. “I was the one left keeping my dead brothers company for days. I was the one left wishing I had joined them. And their wives were left without their husbands, children were left without fathers. Families were broken apart. We suffered for the sake of orders, and the King knows nothing of it. I doubt he would care even if he knew. What is our suffering to him?”

“Nothing.” Romero answered simply. “I am afraid it counts little to a man such as him. It is his own family he cares for, his own suffering matters, and nothing else.”

Aramis smiled sadly. “It was all done to save the King’s sister. All due to politics and plots so far removed from those dead men in the snow… I forgave him. Our captain. I killed a friend to save him and said over the poor man’s grave ‘ _we follow our orders, no matter where they lead, even to death_.’ I was blind! How could I have been so blind?”

“But now you see. Come on, come inside. Let’s get by the fire.” Romero pulled at Aramis’ arm gently and led him away.

Once they were settled inside Romero joined Aramis in front of the hearth.

“You never told me how you came to know Spanish.”

“My grandparents were Spanish, on my mother’s side. I learned the language from them, my mother and I used to speak it at home all the time.” Aramis had slipped so easily into speaking Spanish with Romero and the others, he had almost forgotten he wasn’t using French. There was something homely and comforting about it. It brought back the feeling of his youth.

“Ah, you have a similar story to mine. My father was Spanish, but my mother was French. We lived in these parts when I was young. When my mother died my father took my brothers and I back to Spain. So we are both part mongrels.” A faint smile graced Romero’s face. “We are both part traitors to our cause.” 

Aramis huffed a laugh. “It doesn’t make much sense does it? Our parents loved each other, and we kill each other.”

“No, it does not.” Romero said quietly.

They spent a reflective moment in silence. It let Aramis’ mind drift back to the shadows of Savoy and every other battle he had the misfortune to live through. His thoughts kept circling around the past, and the injustice Romero had brought to light. Aramis’ eyes shone in the firelight, grief and bitterness caused his throat to catch with each breath.

“They can’t know…” Aramis shuddered in a breath and started again. “I’ve been thinking. You’re right. They can’t know what it is to be one of us. The King has never walked a battlefield strewn with corpses. He does not know that terrible moment when the guns cease firing and the swords are laid down - terrible because that is the moment you have to find out which of your friends still live, which are dead, and which are beyond saving. He has not seen men walk like ghosts amongst a field of bodies. He has not trudged through churned up mud, nor felt it pull at his boots as he wipes the dirt from a face he needs to identify. He hasn’t felt his fingers brush over rigid features that smiled at you before the charge. He cannot imagine the sickening scent of blood that hangs over the scene, or the blood spattered faces that men walk past because they’re too caught up in their own tragedy. The bodies are left lying there… just lying, as if they might wake up and walk again.”

Aramis paused a moment to take in a couple of harsh breaths.

“And he will never know the terror that next time it might be you.”

Romero simply reached out a hand to Aramis’ arm. That contact said enough - Here was a man who knew such terror. The rush of blood might give a fleeting sense of euphoria, but close behind it followed the hollowness of death.

“You are right. They are not like us. Not at all.”

The hand squeezed a little tighter, and Aramis didn’t even spare the thought that Romero was becoming more companion than captor. He did not pay it any attention because it did not feel strange, but natural.

“Stay with me, Aramis. Together we will make them pay.”

 _I don't think that anyone is worth more than anyone else._  
_I don't envy you for the decisions you're going to have to make._  
_And one day I'll be gone, and you'll have no one to talk to._  
_But if you remember nothing else, please remember this:_  
_Chess is just a game, real people aren't pieces._  
_And you can't assign more value to some of them than to others._  
_Not to me. Not to anyone._  
_People are not a thing you can sacrifice._

_The lesson is, that anyone who looks on the world as if it was a game of chess deserves to lose._


	5. Chapter 5

The moment came when their supplies ran low and a trip to the local village was needed. It was decided between them that one man alone would not raise suspicion and so Mendez took Aramis’ horse and set out to make some purchases.

Romero and Casilla were deep in conversation at the table while Aramis stood at the window. It was late afternoon, and the sun would soon be going down. Everything was still and silent, save for the hushed mumble of his companions’ voices.

“Aramis, I must discuss matters with Casilla. Will you see to the firewood yourself?”

He whipped around at hearing his name called. The thought of going outside alone was a strange one… and somewhat unnerving. 

Romero must have caught the unsure look on his face, the Spaniard got to his feet and went to put his hands on Aramis’ shoulders. “Arm yourself.” The hands tightened. “And do this one important thing for me.”

Aramis gave him a questioning look.

“If you see somebody out there, kill them. We cannot allow a single person to know we are here. All it takes is one to bring down the local guard and we will all be killed. But more than that - the mission will fail. It is more important than you or me, and certainly more important than any errant French farm boy. Can you do this?”

Aramis met his eyes and nodded. “I can.”

“Good.” Romero retrieved a pistol and dagger and pushed them into Aramis’ hands. “I’m trusting you Aramis, I know you will not disappoint me.”

The weight of the pistol felt strange and familiar all at once. Strange, because it seemed such a long time since he had used one with any regularity, but it was a weapon that once felt a part of him. Aramis’ fingers remembered, even as his heart had tried to forget. 

He secured the weapons at his belt, gave Romero a firm nod, and took his leave. 

When Aramis stepped outside he drew in a deep breath. Some part of him hesitated, Romero trusted him alone, but he wasn’t sure he trusted himself. He looked at the distant tree line and then back at the mansion. Aramis imagined eyes watching him, though he could see no faces at the windows. He could run, if he wanted to. But Aramis found that the greater part of him did not want to. Romero trusted him, he couldn’t break that trust.

Besides, where would he run to? Could he pick up his monastic life again and pretend he didn’t know all of this was happening? Should he inform a local guard the Spanish were here? Aramis’ heart recoiled at the idea. He was entwined with their purpose now, he did not want to betray them. In fact, he wanted to see them succeed. He wanted to see the nobility brought to their knees.

Aramis shuddered a harsh breath out and walked on. It had all become so confusing. But through the tangled mess of his mind there was one bright thought that pierced it all - trust Romero. So Aramis set to collecting firewood. Romero would be pleased to see him return, and he found that he wanted to please Romero. He only paused to watch the birds returning to the trees.

Beneath the boughs on the treeline Aramis was carried away by the cacophony. He hadn’t noticed… he _ should _ have noticed… Aramis swore as he dropped his gaze from the sky and set eyes on a boy amidst the trees. He threw the wood to one side and scrambled for the pistol. He couldn’t be seen here, nobody could know the mansion was occupied. 

“What are you doing here?!” Aramis called out as he brandished the gun.

The boy was crouching near a tree. He looked to be no older than fifteen. With wide eyes he got to his feet and showed his palms.

“I meant no harm Monsieur. I’m just setting snares for the rabbits.” His voice trembled a little as he spoke.

“You shouldn’t be here!”

“I am sorry Monsieur, I thought this place was abandoned. Please don’t have me for poaching, I won’t come here again!”

The pistol trembled slightly as Aramis held it out. He should shoot. Romero would want him to kill the boy. The Spaniard had killed the girl at the inn. Anybody who saw them forfeit their lives. If he let the boy go he would return home and tell everybody there were men at the mansion. It wouldn’t take long for people to come looking. 

But the lad was more child than man. Aramis couldn’t shoot a child… 

“Please Monsieur.”

Aramis grit his teeth, frozen with indecision.

The boy took a step back.

“Stay where you are!” Aramis yelled. 

He stilled like a stunned rabbit, eyes wide and fixed on the end of Aramis’ pistol.

It began to waver more and more.

Aramis shuddered out a breath and tried to still his hand. “You do not tell anybody you saw me here. The mansion is abandoned, and there is nobody in the woods. Say it.”

The boy just stood still, breathing quickly.

“Say it!” 

He jumped as Aramis barked, and then the words flowed fast and frantic. “The mansion is abandoned. There is nobody in the woods. I haven’t seen you, there’s nobody here.”

“Now go!” Aramis let the pistol drop and the boy turned and fled. 

He stood watching the place the boy had run from, as if he could still see him there, as if he could still do something… Aramis’ gut twisted. 

He had failed Romero. 

Slowly he turned to make his way back to the mansion. Aramis’ heart was clutched with a desperate feeling of dread. He didn’t know what to do. Should he confess? He should confess. But he knew what that would lead to. 

Aramis was shaking as he stepped back into the building, he tried to rein in the tremors as he made his way up the dusty stairs. He nonchalantly stepped inside their room and quietly closed the door, not wanting to disturb the men who were still deep in discussion. Slowly and carefully Aramis relieved himself of the weapons and went to stand in front of the dimming fire. His thoughts were racing a mile a minute, he struggled to keep his breathing even. Should he say something? The longer he was silent the easier it seemed to be to stay that way. Aramis’ opened his mouth, trying to find a confession, but his tongue wouldn’t obey. 

The murmuring voices from the table went quiet at his back.

“Aramis… where is the firewood?”

And with that question, his heart clenched. His throat felt like it closed up. He couldn’t breathe.

Aramis leaned forwards and put his hands against the mantlepiece, willing his lungs to work. Eventually he managed to draw in a steady breath, and then another. And then Romero was beside him, uncomfortably close.

“What happened?”

He straightened, and faced Romero, but he couldn’t meet the Spaniard’s eyes. Aramis looked to the lacing on the front of his shirt instead.

“There was a boy…” His words came slowly. “He was setting snares in the wood. I… I let him go.”

Aramis didn’t need to see Romero’s eyes, he felt the disappointment keenly enough already.

“I’m sorry. I should have shot, I _ know  _ I should have shot.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

Aramis hung his head. “He was just a child...”

“Do children not have tongues? Can they not speak of what their eyes see? Or was it his eyes that were missing? I told you to shoot whoever you saw, and what did you say?”

Aramis looked away.

Romero’s fist in his shirt brought his attention back. “Tell me what you said!”

“I said I would shoot.”

“And did you?”

“No…” 

The fist fell away and Romero stepped back. “I thought I could trust you.”

“You can! I am sorry, Romero. It won’t happen again.”

“No, it won’t.” The Spaniard sighed heavily. “I do not want to have to do this Aramis, but you leave me no choice.”

“Please, Romero. Please don’t. I told you, I told you the truth. You don’t need to do this.” Aramis voice was verging on frantic.

“You waited for me to ask. You haven’t learned a thing, have you?” A note of anger crept into Romero’s voice.

“I told you the truth, told you…” 

“You should have told me the moment you stepped through that door.” Romero viciously pointed at it. “The truth will buy you a shortened stay, but you have to go if you are to learn anything. You broke my trust, Aramis. I gave you a chance, and what did you do?”

“I ruined it. I’m sorry Romero! I know I did wrong, I  _ know _ . Please don’t take me back down there…”

“Casilla?”

The other man got to his feet. 

Aramis dropped to his knees and clutched at Romero’s arm. Desperation drove him to abandon all dignity. “Mercy, Romero! Please!”

“We are men of war, not God. Mercy means nothing here.”

Rough hands dragged him to his feet, and then the instinctive basal animal within took over. Aramis shouted and struggled, but a blow to the face sent everything reeling. The world righted just in time for him to approach the wretched door. 

“Please don’t do this!”

There was nothing left to do but beg.

Aramis was thrown inside. He rolled painfully across the stone floor and scrabbled towards the door as soon as he came to his knees. It was slammed shut just inches away from his face. 

“ _ Please! _ ”

The darkness fell. Aramis felt like his own tomb was closing in about him. The room seemed to shrink, the walls pressed in and stole the air from his lungs. His hands felt the wood of the door and he pounded against it. Shouting, begging to be let free. 

A muffled voice filtered through the door and Aramis stepped back to listen carefully.

“You made me do this, Aramis. I didn’t want to, but you forced me.”

“I’m sorry!”

“I will be back in three days.”

Footsteps faded away and silence took over, save for the harsh breaths that ripped in and out of Aramis. He was entirely alone. But perhaps he feared the moment he wouldn’t be. He shut his eyes tight and soft whines began to escape with each exhale. They grew and grew until he was screaming fit to wake the dead. 

When they woke, if he screamed loud enough, he might not be able to hear them.

**~oOo~**

Three days later the door opened. Aramis couldn’t tell three days had passed of course, there was nothing to mark time in the endless darkness. He lay curled up on the floor, trembling. When the door creaked open he flinched away from the stark beam of light.

“Get up.”

It was Mendez. So the man had returned alive from his supply run.

Aramis stopped where he was, he shuddered in a breath and hid his tear streaked face in the crook of his elbow. 

An impatient boot nudged at his ribs.

“On your feet now. If you don’t want to come I’ll shut you back in.”

That got Aramis lurching unsteadily to his feet. Mendez made no move to help. He simply followed Aramis and watched him slowly take the stairs. 

Back in their room Romero was seated in a chair facing the hearth. Aramis dropped to his knees right before it.

“Thank you for letting me out.” His voice was hoarse and faded having screamed it all away. “I’m sorry Romero, I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you.”

Aramis bowed his head, feeling absolution wash over him. “Thank you… Thank you.”

“I do this for your own good you know. I want to trust you, Aramis. But you make it so hard.”

“I will do better. I won’t let you down again, I promise.”

“Good, and now I will give you a chance to make amends. You can fix this. I want you on watch each night, and when the boy returns, kill him. He will come back of course - suspicious activity at a long abandoned location - why would he not? The question is simply when, and how many he will bring with him.”

“It does not matter, I will kill them all, I promise you that.”

**~oOo~**

When evening came Aramis joined Mendez on watch. They walked slowly through the trees surrounding the property, stopping to rest and listen on occasion. Aramis’ heart began to beat at a faster pace as the darkness deepened into night. It was a darkness reminiscent of that in the cellar. When Aramis looked up, branches obscured the sky. Only snatches of the stars reached him, and suddenly the broken twigs beneath his feet sounded like the snap snap snap of little bones. He wheeled around, there seemed to be eyes in the pale flowers, hands in the branches, and voices in the breeze… watching, reaching, calling. Wanting to take him. Aramis’ breath caught in his throat, and his senses took flight. He turned about and ran, desperate to get out of this den of bones and see the star streaked sky.

Moments later he was buffeted sideways into a tree and Mendez leaned into him.

“Calm yourself.” The Spaniard hissed under his breath. “What is the matter with you?”

The question was accompanied by a vicious shake. Aramis tried to push the hands away as he got his breathing under control, but Mendez held him fast.

“I’m all right.”

“Are you sure? Because I cannot let you go if you’re going to run off like a bolting horse.”

Aramis just gave a firm nod, and slowly Mendez relinquished his grip. 

They carried on their watch. Aramis noticed that Mendez remained a little closer than he had before. Some time later a distinctive bird whistle came through the trees. Mendez gave an answering call and shortly after Casilla approached. Aramis settled himself against the base of a trunk and watched the woods as Mendez stepped away to speak with their companion.

“Anything?” Casilla whispered.

“Quiet as the grave.” Mendez lowered his voice, but Aramis could still make out his words. “Watch him, he tried to run.”

“Escape you mean?”

“No… just panic I think. He was heading back for the house, wouldn’t escape by going that way. Still, you don’t want him drawing attention.”

“He shouldn’t be out here.” Casilla spoke somewhat derisively.

“Neither should we if you ask me. We need to move on, Lucero isn’t coming back. I doubt he made it.”

Aramis could detect just the slightest catch in Mendez’ voice.

“Where to though? I know Romero has his heart set on this mission, but we’ve lost too many, it is suicide. Going back after we’ve come this far is risky too. Lucero must have encountered trouble.”

“We can’t know what happened to Lucero. Going back is the better option. But wherever we go, sitting here is doing us no good at all. Especially not when we’re expecting to be set upon by the locals.”

“We should try speaking to Romero again. We can leave before trouble finds us.”

“He’s not going to change his mind, and even if he does have us leave he’ll just march us towards our deaths in Foix.” Mendez gave an exasperated sigh beneath his breath.

“Maybe we…” Casilla’s voice died as he seemed to reconsider his words. “No matter, I will speak with you later. Goodnight.”

With that Mendez uttered his goodbye and took his leave. Casilla came to stand by Aramis and peer into the darkness.

Aramis licked his dry lips and looked up at Casilla. His features were dim in the darkness.

“You think I am a burden? A risk?”

Casilla looked down briefly before turning his attention back to the trees. “What I think doesn’t matter.”

“But you still think. That much is clear.”

“You weren’t supposed to hear any of that.”

“But I still heard. So tell me what you think.”

“I think that talking is going to draw eyes our way, so we should be quiet.” Casilla started walking off, and then seemed to think better of it. He paused and turned to look Aramis up and down in a rather unsettling manner. “I think he has done something to you. He’s changed you... you’re not right.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Aramis near enough growled.

“Keep your voice down!” Casilla hissed. “It means that he’s broken you. I’ve heard what you’ve shouted when you didn’t even know you were shouting. I know the ghosts that haunt you.”

“You know nothing about me!” Aramis spat back at the Spaniard.

“Is that so? I’m sure Marguerite would disagree.”

Aramis’ jaw hung open, shocked by  _ that _ name coming from his mouth, like a hidden blade thrusting forth to grievously wound.

“See, I know more than you think. I know you’re not fit to be out here, you’re weak, and sooner or later you’re going to get us all killed.”

Suddenly a loud bang echoed around the trees. A spray of blood burst from Casilla’s chest to spatter over Aramis. The Spaniard’s eyes were blown wide in shock, but not a word passed his lips before he dropped to his knees and fell face first to the ground. Aramis had flinched at the shot, but he wasted no time in surging to his feet and brandishing his pistol. He returned fire at the spot he had seen sparks fly from, and knew he had hit his mark when a sharp cry split the air. 

Aramis dashed forwards and plunged through the undergrowth to find the boy he had faced before. The lad was lying on the ground, face creased in pain, clutching at his middle. Though darkness obscured much of his features Aramis could make out the black stain of blood at his lips.

“You… You’re Spanish… I heard you…” The boy grit out.

Aramis stood frozen. He hadn’t meant to shoot the boy… but he was meant to shoot the boy. He had promised.

And now standing, watching the lad bleed out at his feet, Aramis wanted to scream. Maybe Casilla was right. Maybe he was broken. He didn’t know who he was, what he wanted, what he was supposed to do…

A hand grabbed his arm and wrenched him away from the scene.

“Aramis! Snap out of it! There are more of them in the woods. Get back to the house, get Romero. I’ll ready the horses.” Mendez. He had come back.

“He’s bleeding, I should… I need to…”

“You need to get moving!”

Mendez pushed him away and Aramis stumbled forwards into a run. He found that once he started running he couldn’t imagine stopping. Tears blurred at his eyes with the exertion. He ran until his lungs burned and his heart beat wildly in his chest. Shouts came from the woods. He had to keep running. If he kept running they wouldn’t catch him... if they caught him, they would kill him.

Suddenly the trees gave way and the mansion loomed before Aramis. He crashed into the door, fell through it, and slammed it shut behind him. He leaned against the heavy oak and gasped endlessly. It was so hard to breathe. Aramis closed his eyes, let his head fall back, and remained snatching at the air as if it were running out. 

“So they have come then.”

Aramis’ eyes flew open to see Romero standing at the top of the stairs. His breath started to calm as the Spaniard descended with an air of utter indifference.

Romero settled in front of Aramis and cast an eye over him. “Look at you. Covered in blood. Did you kill him?”

Aramis straightened, the previous panic and confusion seemed to seep away now that Romero was there. The Spaniard was like a safe haven in a storm. He was the rock that remained standing against the relentless crash of the waves.

“The boy shot Casilla. I shot the boy.”

“Good. You did as I asked. And Casilla is no loss, he would have left one way or another. I could tell. He was weak. He didn’t have the stomach to see our mission through. But you do, don’t you, my friend?”

Aramis nodded vigorously. He saw now - Casilla was wrong, Casilla had been the weak one. Not him. He was strong with Romero, together they would see this through. “Mendez is getting the horses ready, we should go to the stables.”

“Lead on.” Romero waved at the door.

Aramis opened it a crack and stepped out on seeing the way was clear. But then from around the corner of the mansion a horse came charging past. Its hooves tore the ground away as it flew by. Aramis shouted a curse and ran forwards at spotting another rounding the corner. He stood before it and held out his arms, but the frightened beast easily dodged around him and kept going.

“Come on!” Romero bellowed and ran for the stables.

They found a man attempting to shoo away their horses. Two had already flown, and he was running off a third, while Aramis’ steed, Hawthorn, had simply tucked into a nearby bale of hay. Romero didn’t waste any time, he raised the pistol and shot the Frenchman in the chest. That startled the third horse into charging off. Aramis made a half hearted attempt to run and grab at the reins, but he knew he was no match for a bolting horse. Hawthorn had shot his head up at the crack of gunfire, and looked as if he were considering following his companions. Aramis approached, with his hands extended, uttering words in a soothing tone. The horse settled its attention on Aramis and seemed to calm a little in the presence of a familiar face.

As Aramis walked along the row of open stable doors, he caught sight of Mendez lying face down in a pool of blood. He swallowed heavily, turned away and reached for the reins.

“Come on boy, let’s go.” 

Hawthorn reached out his neck for one last mouthful of hay before complying and following along with his master.

Aramis let out a long breath as he approached Romero. “Mendez is in one of the stables, looks to be dead.”

Romero’s mouth set in a hard line, and he wordlessly left to check.

Moments later he returned, still saying nothing of their fallen companion. “Let’s go.”

Aramis mounted behind Romero and then Hawthorn was off. There wasn’t even time for a last regretful look over the shoulder. Aramis took a tight grip around Romero and tried to contain the panic that threatened to take root in his heart. 

Men emerged from the trees, drawn by the sound of gunfire. They started running towards the stables, but Aramis and Romero were easily leaving them behind. Still, the men did not need to catch up. Not when they had firearms. Aramis flinched as crack after crack hit the air. Romero yelled at the horse to speed up, but he was doing the best he could being burdened by two riders. 

The pause to reload let them streak ahead. Aramis nearly breathed a sigh of relief as Hawthorn’s hooves hit a dirt path. It would take them into the trees, and out towards a main road. Of course, they could not remain on a main road, but getting away from this place was the highest priority. Just as they neared the tree line a tall man with an arquebus stepped out to block their way. Aramis felt his heart jump into his mouth. They were close enough to hit. Everything seemed to slow down. Hawthorn shied and tried to spin around, but Romero held tightly onto the reins and stopped him fully turning to bolt back the way they had come. He danced on the spot, tossing his head, seeking an escape Romero wouldn’t let him have. They were caught. Trapped. The marksman in Aramis started calculating… where to shoot, when to shoot… if he were behind the trigger it would be a kill shot. Sometimes such knowledge was a curse. Their only hope lay in the fact that this was not Aramis behind the trigger. His mind raced, the gun rose…

A sudden crack echoed around the trees and crashed into them. 

Fire scored Aramis’ side. He yelled at the shock of it, but the fear fell away. It was a graze, they were alive, and now their assailant had to reload.

A shift took place between them. Predator became prey. Aramis could near enough feel the change in Romero, a cold, resolute stoicism gave way to fire and rage. He had faced that rage, he knew to avoid it. Those who didn’t would reap the consequences.

“Move aside or I’ll run you down.” It was a warning, a promise.

The man stood his ground and reached for a long knife at his belt. In a moment of defiance he had chosen to stand. Aramis wondered just how long that moment would last. The answer came as Romero dug his heels in to Hawthorn’s side and let out an earth shattering yell. Finally being given a way to loose his pent up energy, the horse surged forwards. Aramis held tight to Romero and did his best to stay with the beast. The relentless charge beneath Aramis nearly left him behind. Between one breath and the next they were upon their assailant, but he let that finely tuned self-preservation instinct take over. Just before half a tonne of horse collided with him he threw himself to one side and they blew past.

They tore along the path through the woods. Darkness smothered all around them. Hawthorn had the better sight and sense of the three. Aramis got the feeling Romero wasn’t so much riding the horse as letting him run. Horses were born to run, and Hawthorn ate up the ground beneath them, even burdened by two riders as he was.

No pursuit followed. Being on foot their attackers were left far behind. Soon they burst out onto the main road and Aramis suddenly felt he could breathe again. The air beneath the trees felt close and oppressive, almost like the air before a storm. His harried breath came easier out in the open. After covering some distance Romero let Hawthorn slow down. The horse’s flanks were heaving as he panted for breath. They were all in need of rest. 

“We’ve lost them, and they will have to wait for daylight to have any hope of picking up our trail.” Romero seemed to pause to survey the land around them. “There’s a path over there, we’ll follow it a while and stop at the first cover we find.”

Aramis found he couldn’t speak through his heaving chest. He gave Romero’s shoulder a squeeze in acknowledgement and they continued on. 

It wasn’t long before a copse sprung up some distance from the side road. As Romero guided Hawthorn along, Aramis clapped a hand to his side. The wound was starting to sting now his rush of blood had ebbed away.

Romero was saying something. But Aramis found the words slipping around him, incomprehensible. Romero shifted and shook him. That brought the world back into focus.

“What? Are you hurt? I heard you yell at that shot.”

“Just a scratch…” Aramis huffed out with a wince.

He followed Romero’s eyes down to his side. “Looks like more than a scratch to me.”

Aramis swallowed heavily, and then Romero swore. Indeed, it did look like more than a scratch… Aramis’ shirt was dark with blood, and a glistening trail ran down his leg to stain the horse’s flank beneath.

Romero carefully dismounted and then helped Aramis to get down. After propping him against a trunk, Romero secured Hawthorn and went to root about in the saddlebags. 

“Luckily Mendez threw a bag with a spare shirt on our friend here.” He patted the horse who gave a slight shake. “Unfortunately there is no sign of food or water.”

Romero returned with the shirt and immediately set to work on Aramis’ side. He pulled the blood soaked material away to reveal a wound that was certainly more than the graze Aramis had thought it was. 

“It needs stitching.”

“Mendez didn’t happen to pack needle and thread by any chance?” Aramis gave a strained smile and tried not to writhe as Romero wiped away the seeping blood.

“I will bind it with this, and hope it holds until we reach Foix.”

“Foix?”

“Yes, that is our destination. We can make it with two days hard riding. Your wound will not easily forgive two days hard riding, but you will be in the best place to seek help, and we will be in the best place to proceed with our mission.”

Aramis grit his teeth. He was determined to see the mission through, but they had suffered so much loss, and now with this wound... Was it wise to proceed? “What of a nearby farm or village?”

“We cannot guarantee they will offer us aid, and it will be too dangerous. Word travels fast in these sorts of places. Two strangers, one injured, turning up on their doorstep would look most suspicious when a group of Spaniards have just been run out of that house. The bustle of a town will be easier to lose ourselves in...” Romero paused and narrowed his eyes. “Do you doubt the mission? Do you doubt me?”

“No! Of course not…” Aramis was quick to answer. “I just wonder at our chances, now we are two. Perhaps God is not on our side.”

Romero’s expression darkened as he started to tear the shirt and wrap it around Aramis’ middle. “God does not take sides. When two armies face each other both claim God will stand with them and both sides end up with young men dead in the dirt. Perhaps he just stands by, wondering at the folly of man. We do our part to end such folly, we will see our enemy crippled without such waste of life.” He tied the material tight and Aramis blanched slightly at the pressure. It did not stop Romero’s determined speech. “I had thought that we needed more men for this. It is unfortunate that our numbers have been whittled down, but now I see that this is the way. We will do better keeping ourselves hidden with just two dedicated souls. You see, the castle at Foix is used as a garrison. Our spies informed us meetings often take place there between high ranking military men and governors, and not just meetings, they have grand receptions!” Aramis could detect the venom in Romero’s spitting voice. “Two alone will better be able to infiltrate the castle, two alone can still see the end of them.”

Romero drew back slightly to regard Aramis, who sat there pale and trembling.

“You won’t let me down, will you?”

And with those few words all hint of doubt was swept away. 

“No… no, I won’t.”

_ Darkness… screaming… snapping... _

“Good, I know I can trust you Aramis. You will stand with me?”

_ Watching… reaching… calling... _

“To the very end.”


	6. Chapter 6

They set out at first light, and true to his word Romero rode hard. They needed to reach Foix with all haste. Aside from Aramis’ wound, they had no food or water, save for what little they could drink from passing streams. But Aramis was beyond knowing thirst or hunger. Pain narrowed his world and robbed his thoughts of coherence. The punishing pace set a fire in his side that had him curled up against Romero’s back with a hand tightly fisted in the other man’s shirt. The wound stopped bleeding, only to tear open again and seep sluggishly with the relentless motion of the horse. 

Only when Hawthorn began to struggle did Romero consider stopping for any length of time. He settled them beside a stream at the edge of a wooded area and set to binding a new piece of shirt around Aramis’ wound. Aramis tried to focus his lazy eyes on the sky and fathom what time of day it was. All he could register was that the sun was still up. He couldn’t help but let a moan escape when Romero pulled him forwards to wrap the material around his back. 

While Romero continued tending to him, Aramis settled his eyes on the road above. There was an incline from the stream that led to a hill, it gave them a clear view of anybody coming down. For a moment Aramis wondered if it were his hazy mind imagining things, but he was sure he saw a distant figure at the top.

“Rider…” He mumbled.

“What?”

“Rider coming.” 

Romero shot around to see for himself and swore. Suddenly Aramis found himself being pulled into the undergrowth and laid down beneath some bushes. “Be quiet.”

There were no worries on that front, Aramis hardly had the energy to make a sound. 

Moments later he heard Hawthorn trotting up nearby. The muffled sound of hooves on the grass went past as Romero took him deeper into the trees, and then all was silent. Aramis felt his heart racing as he waited. Time crept by. The surrounding leaves brushed against his skin and his mind seemed to blur a little more. Aramis felt he was falling into himself. He detached from the moment and set adrift through his mind, straying with the wild and the silent.

It was quiet. There was something he was meant to be doing. Aramis felt like he was caught in that strange place you go to when you wake but are still half asleep. The cares of the day have yet to burden your shoulders, while the troubles of night meekly slip away. It is a peaceful place to visit, but that fragile solace is ripped away from between your needy fingers too soon. The world wants you to  _ wake up _ .

What was he meant to be doing? Had Porthos not woken him for his watch?

_ Wake up _ .

Rustling, crunching.

“They’ve gone.”

“Porthos?”

“Come on, we need to get moving.” Hands pulled at him. He didn’t want to move. “Aramis? Wake up.”

A strike to the face.

“Are you with me?”

His head lolled.

“Aramis, don’t let me down. Not now.”

At that he snapped awake. “I’m all right. Get me up.”

Romero helped him to his feet, though he remained unsteady. They stumbled back to the stream and Aramis lay back in the grass as soon as he was set down. Romero went to retrieve the horse while Aramis watched the clouds pass by overhead through half open eyes. His breath came slow, the sun warmed his skin. It would be the easiest thing in the world just to close his eyes and drift away. Just for a moment. A single solitary moment. But how long do moments last? Too long and too short all at the same time. They go on when you want them to end, and they linger when you need them to finish. Imperfect moments. Every one of them. Imperfect.

But when had this life ever offered up anything perfect? It was full of lovers you could not love, sons you could not call your son, and brothers who hid behind masks...

Suddenly a hand touched his face. Aramis’ eyes flew open. He hadn’t realised they were closed.

“We must move on.” Romero took Aramis’ hand and pulled him up. His side flared with pain at the movement, but Aramis swallowed down a whimper. 

Getting back on the horse was agony. This time Aramis sat in front of Romero, letting his head loll back when his strength began to fail. 

“Warm… too warm.” 

It was a hot day. Wasn’t it? The snow melted away off all the bodies. 

No… no… there were no bodies, no snow. It was a hot day. His skin was prickling. Standing on duty at the palace would be none too pleasant.

“You’re not with them. You’re with me, Romero. Do you remember?”

Reality snapped back for a moment. 

“Foix.”

“Yes, that’s where we’re going. To see our mission through.”

“I remember.” When had talking taken this much effort? “Take me… take me to the abbey. They won’t ask questions.”

They would heal the sick and wounded because it was the right thing to do, because God would have wanted them to. God, who had set him on this path. God, who was surely guiding him, even now.

But perhaps he was facing God and walking backwards into hell. 

He was getting warmer. It was more than the heat of the day. It came from within him, like the burning of sin at his heart. Was the hand at his back that of the devil? No… it was Romero. And he was no devil. He was a saviour of sorts, bringing sight to those that could not see, revealing the truth hidden behind a veil of lies. 

Romero was taking him somewhere… somewhere safe… somewhere they were going to do something important together. 

He had something important to do. He was sure of that much.

Had Porthos forgotten to wake him for watch? No… it was duty at the palace. Being on parade in this heat would be none too pleasant. He must remember to get d’Artagnan a hat.

**~oOo~**

Nothing. 

Nothing. 

Nothing.

A breath.

Nothing.

Torture.

Nothing.

The world can lose meaning, just like a word if you say it enough.

Nothing.

The world was nothing. 

Nothing. 

Have you detached yet?

Nothing means nothing.

Lost in a sea of meaningless mist.

Drowning on half formed thoughts that choke you before you know them.

You only know nothing.

And nothing becomes familiar. 

Until the thing that scares you is.

Something.

**~oOo~**

Something reached out of the mist.

Aramis shot back at the intrusion. He didn’t want to know what it was. He was peaceful here, with only the occasional flares of fire to pain him. But again it reached. Again and again. Until Aramis was curled, fair screaming against the something that pulled at him from every direction. Hands and claws hooked in. He had no choice but to give in. 

He felt like he was torn apart and then put back together again somewhere else. His side hurt. Aramis looked down to see Athos was stitching him up. Needle through flesh… pulling… pulling… Porthos and d’Artagnan were sitting in front of him. 

Porthos lounged on a chair the wrong way round. His arms sat atop the back, folded, while his dark eyes examined Aramis. There was something wrong…

“Where have you been?” 

Aramis didn’t know. Where had he been?

“We came for you, and you turned us away.” That was an accusation full of hurt.

Aramis opened his mouth to answer, but found he couldn’t speak.

“Did we mean so little to you? We were brothers. I would have died for you.”

He wanted to reply, to rail against it, to say they meant the world to him.

d’Artagnan’s voice cut in next. “You can only speak the truth Aramis. Don’t fight it.”

He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t tell them what they meant to him. 

But then, perhaps that wasn’t entirely true… The words slipped out. “You mean nothing to me.”

“And there we have it. The truth.” d’Artagnan held a demonstrative arm out.

And once those words were out, he couldn’t stem the flood. “The unbreakable bond I thought we had was an illusion. We didn’t fit. We were trying to cobble together something out of nothing and we did a damn fine job of fooling ourselves. I walked away, in search of something better. I’ve been to places I would never have known had I stayed with you. I’ve done good in this world, I’ve healed and helped others. What did I ever do with you? Fight, kill, fuck… meaningless, endless, sins. You dragged me down, I could never be anything more than a vile, base creature with you.”

“And what are you now?” Porthos raised an eyebrow.

“Something more.” And he couldn’t say that he didn’t mean to hurt them. Did he mean to hurt them?

Athos looked up at him, with half a smirk on his lips. “Don’t feel too bad, you never meant anything to us either. Needs must, and now I’m back where I belong. You can be discarded.”

Aramis looked down to his side and found that Athos was no longer stitching him, but holding the hilt of a dagger that was buried in his flesh.

“What good would you ever have been in a war anyway? Cutting men down and then saying prayers over them with your next breath. You don’t belong with us, you’ve never belonged with us, and I was glad the day you turned away.”

It was true. Athos had never said a word against him going. But then Athos was one of  _ them,  _ those that cared only for themselves. He was everything that Aramis fought against.

“Give my regards to God.”

The dagger twisted.

**~oOo~**

_ Aramis. _

_ Aramis. _

_ You have to wake up. _

He was shaken. But when he opened his eyes there was nobody there. He was in a room in the garrison. Strange dreams… such strange dreams he had been having. Aramis wearily got to his feet and made for the door. He didn’t want to be late. Treville would have his hide.

Aramis stepped out and his foot landed on the soft fabric of a dress. He jumped backwards with a cry. Marguerite lay there. Her face was grey, eyes open and unseeing… Beyond her in the courtyard was Adele. The trail of bodies continued with Isabelle, and standing over her with a bloodied sword was Athos.

“See what you’ve done.”

He could see. Oh, how he could see…

“Clean up your mess, Aramis.”

He shook his head and took a step back. At that Athos rushed forwards and levelled his rapier tip at Aramis’ throat. Between them Marguerite’s still form lay sprawled in the dirt.

“You do not refuse me, you dog.” It was then Aramis noticed Athos was dressed in finery after the Cardinal’s fashion. “You kneel to your betters.”

Aramis stood defiant, and the rapier pressed in.

“Kneel.” 

A bead of blood welled and ran down Aramis’ exposed throat.

“I said _ kneel _ .”

“Not to you.”

“You will kneel or I will make you.”

“Never to you.”

The rapier slashed across his throat and Aramis dropped to his knees. He hung there for just a moment, staring at Athos with wide eyed horror, and then he collapsed to the ground. Aramis’ hands grasped at the wound, but it was futile. Hot blood gushed between his fingers, and then all strength left his limbs and his hands fell away. Aramis watched as the world turned dark around the edges. Marguerite’s glazed stare filled what was left of his vision, and then slowly her rigid arm reached forwards to brush his eyes closed.

A whisper reached his ears. “You will become what you deserve.”

**~oOo~**

_ Scrape. _

_ Scrape. _

_ Scrape. _

Aramis flinched to wakefulness as he felt something hit his face. 

It came again. A spray of dirt across his cheek. Small grains settled into the hollows of his eye, but when Aramis made to brush it away he found he couldn’t raise his arm. Three shadowy figures stood high above, framed by a pale sky. Dark walls lead down to where Aramis lay. His limbs felt strange and heavy... he couldn’t move. 

_ Scrape. _

_ Scrape. _

_ Scrape. _

They were digging. The two to each side. No… not digging. Filling in. 

A cascade of dirt came down. Aramis shied away, trying to protect his eyes. Again he tried to raise his arm to clear them, but something weighed it down. It was the weight of the dirt falling in, burying him, bit by bit. Panic began to build in Aramis’ chest as he realised he was six feet down. They were filling in his grave.

Aramis managed to raise his head and give it a slight shake. Dirt fell away from his ears and the muffled scraping sound was joined by a low voice intoning a prayer. The third man, the one who stood at the foot of his grave, he spoke the words. Aramis came to recognise the voice of Athos. He knew then that the men to each side, so eagerly burying him, were Porthos and d’Artagnan. 

Aramis tried to shout. He had to let them know he wasn’t dead. But no sound came out. His throat was clogged with dirt. His now frantic breaths were laboured, blocked, cut off. He choked. Gagged. The dirt kept falling, mounting up all around. It pressed in. He couldn’t get out. Aramis tried to lurch up, but he was held down. Couldn’t. Get. Out. It covered his face. His eyes rolled and scrunched as his sight failed, darkness and deafness took the world away. Aramis put everything he had into reaching up, reaching air. But there was more than dirt in the way. His fingers brushed cooled flesh. He was blocked in by dead bodies, thrown down with the dirt on top of him. He couldn’t get out. 

And though there was no sound. No air. He could still hear the scathing words from Athos’ lips.

“Thought we’d never be rid of him. He crawled out of the snow in Savoy, lived through defenestration, and evaded the wheel. Now he’s finally where he belongs.”

They put him here.

They cast him away and left him to rot.

He couldn-

_ Wake up. _

_ You have to wake up. _

Suddenly Aramis gasped in a breath and lurched forwards. He retched and choked, startled at coming awake. It took a moment for his senses to right, but he realised that he was in a bed, in a small room. He was no longer in his grave. The lingering tendrils of his nightmare retreated in the face of light from a bedside candle. Aramis lay back down, heaving in each breath as the world came back, piece by piece. His addled mind tried to sort them all out, but he was so tired…

And he wasn’t alone.

An elderly man in a cassock came forwards to wipe at his brow. Aramis watched him warily.

“It is good to see you awake finally.”

The cautious expression on Aramis’ face remained the same.

“Forgive me, I have forgotten to introduce myself. I am Brother Lussier, and this is Saint Volusien Abbey of Foix. You are quite safe here.”

At that Aramis seemed to settle a little. But something in him still felt as if it had to be on guard…

“You have been very sick. Your friend was worried, he will be glad to see you’re back with us.”

“My friend?” Aramis asked with a frail voice.

“Yes, Renou. He brought you here. I gather you were travelling together?”

Aramis frowned… Renou? Ren… Rom… Romero. The mission. Of course. They would be using false names. “What happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

“It is… unclear.” He remembered now, it was all falling into place. But he needed to know what ‘Renou’ had told the monk.

“You were attacked on the road, so your friend says. Had everything stolen. Luckily you were not far from Foix and he sought aid for you here.”

“Thank you. It seems you have done much for us.”

“I am just doing what the good Lord bids us to, but you are most welcome all the same.” He gave a warm smile and gently patted Aramis’ arm. “Rest now. I will send word to Renou in the morning, no doubt he will come to visit you straight away.”

“Where is he?”

“Once your life no longer hung in the balance he sought work and was taken on in the castle kitchens. Don’t worry, you will see him soon.”

The monk left and quietly closed the door behind him.

Silence took the room then. It gave Aramis a chance to take stock of his situation. His side hurt and the rest of him ached, he felt exhausted and his skin held a lingering clamminess. It all told of a passing fever. But he was alive, and they were in Foix. Romero had been busy by the sounds of it. He had already wound his way into the castle. Aramis longed to be back on his feet and lending a hand. Despite the fact he had only just woken, he was already feeling useless. There was work to be done, and he didn’t want to let Romero down.

**~oOo~**

The next morning Brother Lussier came by again. He checked Aramis’ wound and assured him that a message had been sent to Renou. Aramis managed to eat a little and then another two monks helped him to wash. He felt much better once his skin was free of sweat and sickness. Though he was still so tired. Aramis returned to his bed and slept half the day away.

He woke when the door opened, and a smile lit his face on seeing who it was. 

“Romero!”

“Hush! Do not call me that. Here I am Renou.” Romero took a look outside to make sure they were alone before closing the door. “I’ve also told them your name is Ancel.”

“I am sorry, I…”  
  
“No harm done, this time. But we cannot afford such mistakes.” Romero took a seat and drew closer to the bed. “We have come so far We cannot fail now. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?”

Aramis slowly shook his head.

“I have been busy while you’ve been recovering. They had need of another kitchen worker at the castle, and so I took the position. When you are back on your feet there will be a place for you there too.”

Aramis wasn’t going to ask how he knew there would be a position opening… “What have you in mind?”

“They have an extensive armoury, and as a former musketeer I am sure you know how to care for weapons. Perhaps we can find a place for you there.” Romero lowered his voice. “Then we are both in place to take advantage of opportunities. You care for the weapons, I care for the food. It would be most unfortunate if anything were to happen to either.”

“Most unfortunate indeed.” Aramis offered a faint smile. 

“Speaking of getting you back on your feet, how are you feeling?”

“The monk is pleased, he says my wound is healing well now. But I am still very tired, and he will not let me out of bed for long.”

“Still beholden to the word of men of God I see.” There was a slight hint of humour to Romero’s voice. “If you are ready to get out of bed, then get out of bed. Do not let them hold you back.”

Aramis gave a nod. 

“I need you by my side. You won’t let me down, will you?” The words somehow seemed oppressive.

“I won’t.”

A slight knock at the door heralded the arrival of Brother Lussier, who had brought a bowl of stew for Aramis.

Romero’s demeanour changed in an instant. A broad smile split his face and he got to his feet, ready to give the monk a warm welcome. “Brother Lussier! So good to see you again!”

“And you my friend.” 

Aramis shuffled himself upright to take the bowl.

“Ancel has been telling me you’ve taken such good care of him. Oh, please sit down” Romero relinquished his chair to Brother Lussier with a flourish. 

“Truthfully, he has not been much trouble to take care of. The pigs and the goats are worse by far.”

At that Romero gave a raucous laugh. “But which of them smells worse eh?”

“Until we washed him Ancel here would have bested the pigs on that front.” A wry smile creased the monk’s features.

Aramis summoned up a hurt look. “It is not polite to speak of a man so when he is not well.”

“You’re looking well enough to me now!” Romero teased.

“Well, I don’t feel it.”

“Then perhaps we should leave you to rest a little while, hm?” Brother Lussier raised an eyebrow.

“No… no, I have slept for so long, I am quite enjoying being awake.”

The monk’s expression suddenly turned to one of concern. “Your sleep did not always seem restful. I think the fever gave you some terrible nightmares. I hope you did not suffer too much?”

“I am no stranger to nightmares.” Aramis gave a sad smile.

“You called out. Often for a man named Athos. Does he mean anything to you?”

Romero’s hands tightened on the back of the chair. 

“Nothing. He means nothing.”

Aramis felt Romero’s eye boring into him.

“Well, if you ever need to speak of these things, or pray, I will be here.” Brother Lussier slowly got to his feet and took his leave.

Romero moved forwards to take his place, looming over the bed. Aramis sank back into the bedclothes and turned away.

“Look at me."

He did as he was told.

“So Athos is still in your thoughts.”

“I meant what I said. He means nothing.” Aramis scowled.

“Then why are you dreaming about him?”

“Do you want to know what I was dreaming?” Aramis’ voice seemed to crack a little. “I was dreaming about Athos stabbing me, cutting my throat…  _ burying  _ me. He means nothing. I hate him. He is nothing to me.”

“Good. Because you mean nothing to him. You never have done. If you ever see him again I want  _ you _ to be the one stabbing _ him _ . It what he deserves after all he’s done. Worming his way into your lives… usurping your position… leaving you in the dirt as he climbs the ladder. He needs to be cut down.”

“One day he will be. He was a pampered Comte, what does he know of war? He might have been the best swordsman in the regiment, but back alley skirmishes are a world away from the battlefield. He is bound to make a mistake. I just mourn the lives he’ll take with him…”

“We’ll do what we can to stop his ilk. The time is nearing. Soon we will strike. Are you ready, Aramis?”

“I am.”


	7. Chapter 7

Aramis’ recovery continued at a good pace. Brother Lussier implored him to rest in bed, but Aramis was insistent on fresh air. They came to an agreement whereby Aramis would sit in the garden and rest instead. He savoured the feel of the wind on his skin, the air seemed to get staler and staler in his small room. Out here he could watch the monks go about their business in the garden. Between their prayers and devotion to God vegetables had to be picked, and seeds sown. A time or two Aramis tried to help, but his well meaning attempts were brushed off. It seemed Brother Lussier had informed on him. They all insisted he rest. 

The sounds of hammering and other building work often drifted over. Aramis knew the abbey was being rebuilt, having been destroyed during the religious wars. He had hoped to assist in the work, which seemed to be going well. Enough had been constructed that the monks had a serviceable abbey, but it would likely take years for it to be completed entirely. Eventually curiosity got the better of him, when the garden was quiet Aramis clamped a hand to his side and slowly got to his feet. He followed the sounds until he came across a team of men working the stone. Sweat slicked their bodies as they heaved it and shaped it. Aramis longed to join them. It would be a fine thing to help rebuild a house of God. What better work could his hands be put to? A voice at the back of his head said that he had other work to do. More important work to do… Many had the strength to lift stone, few had the strength to do what they were going to do.

“I thought we agreed that you would sit in the garden?” Brother Lussier suddenly appeared at Aramis’ side and pulled him from his thoughts.

“It’s not very far from the garden.” Aramis tried sheepishly.

“It’s further than you should be walking.”

“I made it didn’t I?”

“Barely, judging by the paleness of your complexion and the trembling of your legs.”

Now being aware of it, Aramis tried to stop the shaking that had set in. 

“Come on, let’s get you back inside. Your friend is waiting for you.”

Aramis let the monk lead him away, but he shot a last look over his shoulder at the ongoing work. “I wanted to help, you know. I wanted to come to Foix and lend a hand.”

“You still can, once you’ve healed.”

“I fear there is other work that will take my attention.”

“Well, as long as it is a good wholesome sort of work, I’m sure the Lord will be pleased all the same.”

“He will.” 

They were going to restore the rightful order to the world. They were going to show the selfish and uncaring the error of their ways. The nobility would soon reap what they had sewn.

**~oOo~**

Aramis returned to his room to find that Romero had brought a fine dinner of meats down from the castle - much better than that monk’s watery stew - as he said. While they ate he railed against the luxury the commanders had, while others got by on little more than scraps. Romero considered it his duty to take what he could from the kitchens. 

Whenever Romero visited he brought good food and vitriol. Being in the castle, at the heart of it, seemed to stoke the fire in him a little more, while Aramis felt apart from it. As the days passed he gained strength and was allowed to help in the garden and with the animals. He joined the monks in prayer on occasion, and ended up deep in discussion on ecclesiastical matters with Brother Lussier. Something of this life gave him peace, but he knew it wouldn’t last. He knew there was work to be done...

Sure enough the day came when Romero declared Aramis was fit enough to join him. But first, a position had to come up at the castle. 

When night fell Romero came for him. “Be quiet, follow me.”

It crossed Aramis’ mind to ask where they were going. But it wouldn’t do to question Romero. Taking the paths less travelled he led Aramis out to the trees surrounding the town. As they came to a stop Aramis noted a sack and a couple of shovels concealed by the undergrowth at their feet. Romero knelt down to ferret about in the sack. When he got to his feet he pushed a dagger into Aramis’ hands. 

Aramis looked down at it and then at Romero with a confused expression. 

“I know a fellow working in the armoury. We have been sharing drinks at the end of the day. I’m due to meet him tonight. He will partake in a little too much wine, and I will lead him out here.” He put his hand on Aramis’ shoulder. “That is when you strike.”

Aramis swallowed heavily and nodded. A small part of him quailed at the thought of stabbing an innocent man. The greater part of him didn’t even question it.

As if sensing those treacherous thoughts Romero squeezed Aramis’ shoulder. “It is a necessary sacrifice. Just like all the others. Are you with me?”

“Of course.” 

“Good. I know I can trust you, Aramis. Wait here, I shouldn’t be too long, he can’t hold his drink at all.”

Aramis went to settle himself down against a tree trunk and wait for his moment. He toyed with the dagger in his hands, twirling it back and forth between his fingers. He would be burying it in another man’s flesh shortly. It was nothing new. He was intimate with the feel of steel breaching skin. It was usually the skin of somebody attacking him though. Still, they were often attacking at the behest of somebody else. How many of those he killed did he actually have a personal quarrel with? Few, too few. Especially on the battlefield where they just happened to be on different sides. 

He was going to kill an innocent man. He had already killed too many innocent men. But this time, it was necessary.

Soon enough the sound of somebody lurching through the undergrowth reached Aramis. He clutched the dagger and got to his feet. A quiet and tuneless song wound around the trees. Aramis risked a look. He peeked from behind his tree to find Romero helping another man stagger along. Romero found his eyes and gave a nod. At that Aramis revealed himself and slowly approached. Romero’s companion didn’t seem aware of him, not until he stood right before them, at which point the armourer stopped his singing and blearily looked up at Aramis. 

There would be no resistance, this would be easy. 

Aramis wondered for a moment where to stab. He felt like he was appraising a slab of meat. In the heat of battle you didn’t often have the luxury to consider these things. You just had to lock onto targets and thrust your sword into them as quickly as possible. Slashing the throat would be quick, but it would be messy. A stab to the gut might very well leave him lingering for a while…

“What are you waiting for?” Romero hissed.

At that Aramis grabbed the man’s hair and pulled his head to one side, exposing the juncture between neck and shoulder. He plunged the dagger down into that soft hollow of flesh behind the collarbone. It sunk in deep with little resistance, doing irreparable damage. 

“Hush, hush…” Romero smothered the man’s scream with his hand. 

Wild, confused and pained eyes looked at Aramis. He hardened his heart against that gaze and withdrew the dagger. It came free with a wet sound, and blood spurted forth in its wake. Romero unceremoniously dropped the armourer as red began to soak his shirt. 

They stood over his still body for a moment, breathing heavily. And then Romero broke the silence. 

“Now we dig.”

While Romero went off to retrieve the shovels Aramis knelt down beside his victim. He brushed the man’s eyes closed and whispered a quick prayer. It almost didn’t seem real. Aramis pressed his fingers into his eyes, suddenly feeling as if he were walking through a dream. A metallic thunk beside him heralded the arrival of a shovel. His body felt distant as he began to dig.    


The ground gave way easily. A hole began to open up. Rivulets of sweat soaked their skin, despite the cool night air. The hole opened deeper, deeper, and deeper… Aramis’ movements became mechanical, his arms did their work without conscious thought. His mind was drifting...

_ Scrape. _

_ Scrape. _

_ Scrape. _

Couldn't.

Get.

Out.

_ Scrape. _

Couldn't move.

_ Scrape. _

Couldn’t  _ breathe _ .

Suddenly Aramis jumped out of the hole and went to lean against a tree, panting harshly. One hand clutched at his chest clawing against his thundering heart, while the other grasped at the bark. Moments later a rough hand pulled him away. He was shaken, and stars danced across his vision. A strike to the face came next. Aramis found himself on his hands and knees, a half dug grave just in front of him, and a body beside him. 

“Keep digging.”

He was frozen. He couldn’t breathe. 

He was hauled to his feet and thrown down into the hole.

“Keep digging!”

He pushed himself up and stared blankly down at the dirt between his fingers.

“Aramis, don’t let me down. I trusted you to do this. I thought you were strong.”

And then he was digging. As if his mind had yet to catch up with his body, he was digging, while his head was still spinning. He couldn’t let Romero down, they were in this together. He had to keep digging.

His body continued to act while his mind was trapped elsewhere. He didn’t take in much, aside from Romero’s barked instructions. When it was done Aramis made his way quietly to the abbey. He moved without thought, opening doors, lighting candles. When he finally came back to himself Aramis was on his knees, before a cross, frantically brushing at the dirt on his hands. He realised and stopped, hands stilling, but trembling, on his lap. Aramis stared reverently at the cross and let out a long breath. He felt his heart settle for the first time in what felt like an age.

_ It was a necessary sacrifice. _

Romero’s words came back to him. It was necessary. It had to be done. Aramis’ gaze dropped to his hands. He should clean them. They were filthy. He was filthy. 

“Ancel?”

Aramis hid his hands between his legs as he heard Brother Lussier’s confused voice. 

“Could you not sleep?” There was the grating sound of pity in the monk’s voice.

Aramis shook his head.

“I understand. I find it hard to sleep sometimes, and so I come here to pray. Although I suspect my troubles are more due to age and aching bones than yours.” He came to stand at Aramis’ shoulder.

Everything in Aramis seemed to tighten as Brother Lussier approached. 

“Would it lighten the burden on your soul to speak of what troubles you?”

Aramis tried not to flinch at the hand that found his shoulder. “No, I…” He took in a deep breath, searching for the right words. “My troubles are my own.” 

“Very well.” Brother Lussier stepped forwards to light a few more candles. He frowned as he turned back to Aramis. “How did you get to be so filthy?”

I have killed.

I have lain with women.

I have...

His shirt. Of course. It was as dirty as the rest of him. “I fell. I felt a little light headed and fell.”

Brother Lussier put a gentle hand to Aramis’ face. “Fell and landed on a rock?”

He must be bruised then. The ache at his jaw had been as distant and muted as everything else. Aramis hadn’t noticed it. Abruptly he pulled his face away and scrambled to his feet, turning from the monk and making for the door. A hastily muttered ‘goodnight’ was thrown over his shoulder as he went. He needed to get away. He needed to be alone.

**~oOo~**

It was a few days later when Romero came to take him away. Brother Lussier had tried to get him to talk several times, but Aramis always brushed off the attempts. Romero wouldn’t be happy at him unburdening himself to a priest. He couldn’t give anything away. As they parted Brother Lussier held on tightly to Aramis’ arms. There was something strange in his eyes, a warning perhaps… but the only words that passed his lips were fond goodbyes and a plea to look after himself. Aramis assured him that he would, and promised to return. He turned his back on the abbey and went to Romero.

The castle was like another world entirely. Soldiers and civilians rushed hither and thither, it reminded Aramis of a busy day at the garrison, but on a grander scale. Romero steered him through it all until they reached a room lined with a row of muskets. A gruff looking older man stood barking directions in the middle of it. Romero approached without hesitation. 

“Chardin, this is the fellow I was telling you about - Ancel.”

He reached forwards to give Aramis’ hand a vigorous shake. “Renou here tells me you could strip and clean my pistol, then put it together again blindfolded.”

“And with one hand behind his back!” Romero gave a laugh.

“Well, perhaps not that. It would slow me down at least. Blindfolded I could certainly do.”

“I’m short on time, so I’ll take your word for it. But be assured, when you work for me, you work hard and you work well.”

“He won’t let you down. Will you?” Romero seemed to stare down into his soul.

“No, certainly not.”

“Right, good. We’re due to take a delivery of two dozen muskets. I want you to ensure they’re clean and in good working order, ready to go out to the men. I’ll send another couple to work with you. We’ll soon see how good you are.” Chardin gave Aramis a last appraising look before marching off.

Romero clapped him on the back. “You’re in.” 

Aramis managed to impress with his work. In no time at all he was part of a well oiled machine, always going above and beyond to get things done. It was an attitude that didn’t win him any friends, there were more than a few who muttered ill mannered comments about Aramis being a boot licker. But he could ignore such envious bile when it was whispered behind hands and out of earshot. He knew what they were about. He showed them up, and he wasn’t there to make friends in any case. 

As the weeks passed by Aramis was given more responsibility. Chardin trusted him to check deliveries and send them out, he was fast becoming Chardin’s right hand man. Naturally it ruffled a few more feathers. The ill mannered comments were said a bit louder, but Aramis still turned a blind eye. 

Occasionally Romero would meet with Aramis down in the depths of the castle. They could leave Renou and Ancel behind for a time and be themselves. Spanish flowed freely between them, and of course, they could discuss matters plainly without ears listening in. Just as Aramis had become a part of the armoury’s workings Romero had embedded himself within the kitchen. Although Romero had made a few more friends than Aramis. He often shared drinks with his fellow workers, while Aramis was given a cold shoulder.

A turning point came when Aramis was overseeing a delivery of powder. Romero found him and seemed quite animated about something. 

“I have news. I will see you at eight.” He would say no more, but clearly something big was about to happen.

When the hour struck Aramis made sure he was entirely alone before going to their meeting place. He dodged a patrol of guards and slipped into the cellar room unseen. Romero was already waiting. 

Once the cellar door was closed Romero burst out with his news. “We have our chance Aramis!”

Aramis took a seat on a crate and looked on eagerly. Romero didn’t need any encouragement to continue.

“There is to be a meeting, an important one, even the Minister for War will be coming! I’m involved in the preparations for the reception. Naturally they need a show of excess to welcome the high born officers.” A derisive tone crept into his voice at that. “I have discovered where the meeting will be taking place. It happens to be above a store room. Now, if that store room were full of powder an explosion would take out half of the French command there and then.”

Aramis looked on without saying a word.

“Well?”

He cleared his throat. “It seems like a good plan. But how do you propose I get powder into the store room? Chardin trusts me with much work, but he isn’t going to let me move our stock of powder on a whim.”

“I need you to take Chardin’s place. It is the only way we will be able to operate unhindered.”

A chill seemed to creep down Aramis’ spine. “And how will I do that?”

“Leave it to me. I will bring you a bottle of wine, make sure he gets it, and do not drink any.”

**~oOo~**

It was a few days later when Romero approached with a bottle of wine in hand. Aramis’ heart leapt at taking it. He made his way back to the armoury with leaden feet. 

“What’s this then?” One of the men tried to snatch at the bottle as he passed by.

“Get your hands off!” Aramis pulled it away.

He turned to leave and found his way blocked by another two men. All three were those behind the slurs against Aramis. He scowled. “Move aside. I won’t ask twice.”

“Let’s have a look at your bottle first. We don’t often see anything this fine down here.” A hand reached forwards and Aramis batted it away.

“It’s not for you.”

“Oh, who is it for? Let me guess, a present for Chardin? Want to bed him do you?” One of the men leered in with a lewd grin.

“What are you standing around chatting for? There’s work to be done!” At that shout the men sprung apart to reveal Chardin striding forwards.

“Ancel’s drinking on duty sir, we thought we’d better tell him you don’t appreciate drunkenness in your men.”

“Indeed, I don’t.” Chardin eyed the bottle. “But that is easily solved.” He held out his hand and Aramis reluctantly gave it up. “Don’t let me find you with alcohol again.”

Chardin took the bottle away into his room. The men sniggered as soon as his back was turned. But one had a face like thunder. It was Benett, the ringleader of the three.

“Don’t know what you’re laughing about, if that was any of us we’d be flogged.”

Aramis rolled his eyes. “He clearly knew you were lying. You’re as easy to see through as a window pane.”

“What else are you doing with a bottle of wine then? Bring it down here just to admire it did you?”

“That is none of your concern. Well, as Chardin pointed out, there’s work to be done. Forgive me gentlemen.”

Aramis turned and tried not to shake as he left. It had all gone to plan, he hadn’t originally meant for the bottle to be taken so publicly, but at least it was in Chardin’s hands. Now he had only to wait.

The next day Chardin failed to turn up for work. Aramis went into his room and perused the paperwork to give out the work detail. He surreptitiously disposed of an empty bottle while he was there. 

When Chardin was absent the day after, a boy was sent to his lodgings to see if he was unwell. The lad found Chardin dead in his bed. 

Aramis’ mouth went dry as they were informed. Of course there were suspicions, men in good health didn’t usually die in their sleep without reason. An investigation was promised, but for now there was work to be done and important visitors to prepare for. Naturally Aramis was looked at to take over. He knew it would set dissension in the ranks, and so his first action was to send a certain three men to the kitchens. He had the perfect excuse - there was a grand reception being planned, and they needed more hands over there. The three of them wouldn’t be missed in the armoury. They were more inclined to laze about when out of Chardin’s sight, and Aramis could do without them questioning his orders and his position.

Once they settled into the new routine Aramis gathered a few men together. He told them that damp had been found in the powder storage room and they were going to have to move it all. Nobody pointed out the new storage room was a little out of the way, nor did they examine the room for damp too closely. As far as they were concerned, Aramis was in charge, and they would follow his orders.

The next meeting Aramis had with Romero, he happily reported that everything was in place. 

They were ready.


	8. Chapter 8

The commanders all arrived over the span of a few days. Aramis kept out of the way, he knew Treville would be up there somewhere and he did not want to be recognised. He saw little of Romero, the preparations for the reception were going apace and he was in the thick of it.

A curiosity drove him when the day of the reception arrived. Men were frantically running about with cutlery, food and more. Amongst the commotion Aramis made his way to the corridor before the dining hall unhindered. The doors were wide open and the scene was set to a lavish standard. Fine draperies hung here and there, and the tables were laden with food Aramis hadn’t seen since he stood on guard duty at the palace. His mouth watered at the sight of it. Why should they have such rich pickings? It wasn’t right.

Eventually the servants began to disperse, just a few stragglers remained primping at cloths and moving dishes. Others took positions against the wall, silently awaiting the moment they would be needed to fill a glass or fetch and carry on command.

Soldiers moved to the door.

“Oi, you! Get out. They’ll be arriving any minute now.”

Aramis started and did as he was asked. Though he made his way halfway down the corridor before turning back. He watched as the two guards took position either side of the door. At one time Aramis would be standing there, watching everybody coming through, making sure it was all safe. It wasn’t safe, but the guards didn’t know that. Everybody would make merry at the reception, not knowing that death waited around the corner at the meeting. The thought suddenly struck Aramis then. Treville might die. A pang of regret struck his heart, but Romero’s words were his mantra now… _necessary sacrifice_. His death would be for the greater good.

One of the guards waved his hand at Aramis. “Go! Don’t want your sort up here! Clear off!”

_Your sort_ … He was counted amongst the riff raff now, the worthless, the nameless, the forgotten. Those words made his blood boil. And to think, he would have once stood proudly shoulder to shoulder with Athos, in their gleaming uniforms, shooing away undesirables from the King’s door. He hated Athos, just as he hated who he used to be. That blind peacock. The one who went from bed to bed leaving pain, hurt, and death in his wake. The one who unquestioningly served the King like some dog at his heel. The world had always been so black and white back then. He was good. Those he struck down were bad. Aramis was the hero in his own grand tale. But now he knew the world was not made of heroes and villains. Just men. Flawed men, each with their own purpose, the most dangerous of which was accruing power.

“Did you not hear me? Get out of here! I won’t tell you again!” The guard’s hand hovered at his sword.

Aramis’ heart sank and he walked away. He reached the end of the corridor and turned a corner.

He froze.

Athos.

Time slowed as his heart raced. A thousand emotions hit all at once, hatred, bitterness, regret, fear… he _couldn’t_ be seen.

Athos was walking towards him, deep in conversation with another at his side. He hadn’t seen Aramis. Like a sudden strike of lightning hit, his limbs freed up and he shot to the window. Aramis gripped the sill tightly, hoping and praying that Athos would pass by at his back. He couldn’t breathe. He felt his lungs seize, he couldn’t drag in air. It was as if his throat were clogged with dirt. The terror of being seen overrode everything in him, but something in Aramis longed to turn and strike at the man he once called friend.

Sure enough Athos passed by. The voice that Aramis once found to be a welcoming comfort now stoked his ire. Of course he would pass by. Aramis was invisible to his kind, they were beneath notice to the nobility, they were only there to serve and die. Their worth equalled that of the animals, and sometimes fell below. Aramis silently seethed as he heard Athos at his back. His arms trembled as he clutched at the sill.

The moment Athos was gone Aramis drew in a breath and turned around with gritted teeth to glare at his retreating back. He imagined Athos going in there, eating his fill, snapping his fingers at the ghostly waifs lining the wall. It set his blood afire. Aramis ran a shaking hand through his hair and then dashed off to find Romero.

He found his friend in the kitchens, and didn’t think anything of striding over with a shout.

“He’s here!”

Romero grabbed his shirt and pushed him off to one side out of the way into a store room.

“You forget yourself.” Romero hissed. “ _Ancel_.”

He had to play the role.

He had to forget who he was.

Aramis couldn’t forget _him_.

“But he’s here… _Athos._ ”

At that Romero’s eyes widened. “This changes nothing. You mean nothing to him, you never have done. You let him turn your head for all those years, don’t let him turn your head now. Not when we’re so close.” His hands fisted Aramis’ shirt tightly.

“No… Don’t think that… I don’t see him and think that…” Something feral twisted Aramis’ features. “I want to hurt him.”

Relief seemed to wash over Romero. “And you will. We’ll hurt all of them. In a few days time there will be nothing left of them but dust.” He let go and patted Aramis’ shoulder. “Stay strong for me.”

**~oOo~**

The next day Romero met with Aramis in their usual place for a last run through the plan. Once the meeting commenced it would be up to Aramis to set the powder off. In the aftermath of the explosion eyes would naturally turn to those working in the armoury. They deemed it safer for Aramis to escape to a nearby town. Romero could evade suspicion, it was decided he would stop on for a time and meet with Aramis when things had calmed down. This was to be their last stand, but Romero seemed to have embedded himself so thoroughly he was now entertaining notions of staying and doing further damage. He even considered sowing dissent and turning men to their cause.

“There is one last thing we must speak of.”

“Oh?” Aramis had been ready to leave, but he hung back on hearing that.

“If things do not go well. If you are captured at any point, here or out there…”

“I will say nothing. Be assured of that.”

“Good… and stay away from Athos. Don’t look at him, don’t talk to him, don’t give him the satisfaction of your attention.”

Aramis frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Perhaps it was not you I saw lingering in the shadows after the reception, watching our visitors take their leave?”

Ah.

“I just wanted to see what has become of him.”

“You know what has become of him. He has become what he always was, what he hid from you - The Comte. Now Athos is back where he belongs, amongst his own sort. You are forgotten, you are beneath him. Confronting him will do nothing but jeopardise our plan. Stay away.”

“As you wish.”

Aramis had stood there seething with clenched fists and gritted teeth. To them he was an invisible servant in the shadows, not worthy of notice. He just needed to see Athos, to see if he was truly something else. Romero was right of course, Romero was always right. It was in the way Athos held himself as he walked, in his cultured manner of speaking, it all betrayed him. Athos had always seemed a little different, but Aramis couldn’t have imagined how different he really was until that admission…

“ _You were the Comte de la Fere? A son of the nobility? How many servants did it take to run this place?_ ”

“ _No more than twenty, including my valet and housekeeper._ ”

Back then he had asked in amazement. Now it set his blood boiling to think of Athos being waited on hand and foot by twenty men and women.

He had seen Athos walk down that corridor, head held high, laughing at the words of his beautiful high born companion.

Athos never laughed. Not with them.

He had seen enough.

“We may not see each other for some time.” Romero broke Aramis from his thoughts. “Good luck, my friend.”

“And to you.”

So this was it.

**~oOo~**

That night Aramis hardly slept at all. He wavered between excitement and anxiety about their plan, to anger at Athos. True to his word Aramis kept away from the man, but the Comte still haunted his thoughts. He couldn’t help but rake over their years together, trying to think back to see if there were any signs Athos wasn’t what he seemed. Aramis bristled at every memory of Athos taking charge, and the way he shunned them to drink alone in a tavern corner. The man had demons, but what man hadn’t? Of course, with Athos being one of _them_ he was selfish. He imagined his own hurts ran deeper than those of any other. Well, he should try waking up to twenty dead brothers!

Not that Athos would have cared about _those_ brothers. They were beneath him.

Hell, he nearly let Porthos die just to avoid his past.

Aramis took a deep breath and tried to let go of the anger. It wouldn’t matter soon. The coming day would see Athos become the nothing he saw when he looked at Aramis and all the rest. He would be nothing, and he wouldn’t matter.

**~oOo~**

Morning came and time ticked by too slowly. Aramis sat before his table, filled with paperwork, anxiously tapping his finger or a foot. Men asked him questions, he answered through a daze. It didn’t seem to matter any more. A shipment was late, but it wouldn’t be his concern when tomorrow came. A late shipment would be the least of anybody’s worries for that matter.

Afternoon approached and Aramis got to his feet, he made his way to the powder room as if he were in a dream. Two men were working down there, he dismissed them and waited until they were long gone before he started setting the fuse. Up above they would be gathering in the meeting room, oblivious to the fact they were about to breathe their last.

Aramis’ heart was pounding. His mind was racing. He tried to filter out everything else… _he was going to kill_ … and focus on the two things he had to do. Light the fuse and get to the stables.

Light the fuse, get to the stables.

Nothing else mattered.

But he couldn’t help but imagine the nobility up above, deep in discussion, sitting around a table strewn with maps.

They didn’t know this was coming.

_Focus._

Light the fuse, get to the stables.

The parchment in his hand trembled slightly.

He had to be strong, for Romero.

This was for Romero.

For everybody.

He lifted the parchment to a torch on the wall and knelt down to the fuse when it caught fire.

_Light the fuse._

He touched the parchment to the line of powder.

_Get to the stables._

He dropped it and turned to run. He just had to find the horse Romero had arranged to have tacked up for him. Third stall from the end. It would be waiting, and he could ride away.

He tried not to think about the fuse burning down. He tried not to imagine the explosion, the inevitable blast, and the bodies afterwards. He just had to get to the stables.

But there was one thing Aramis couldn’t have planned for. He turned a corner and ran into Benett, the troublemaker.

“Ancel! They told me you were down here.”

“Go!”

“Not until you tell me why I can’t come back to the armoury! I know you didn’t have me put in the kitchens to help-”

“We have to leave. _Now!_ ” Aramis physically pushed at the fool in his way.

“Why?” Benett frowned as he seemed to catch on to Aramis’ desperation.

“It’s not safe. The powder… RUN!”

The frown left his face as understanding dawned. “What have you done?”

“GO!”

Benett didn’t need telling again. They both took flight away from the powder room. Aramis’ lungs heaved with the effort. He had set a long enough fuse, but that delay might very well cost them their lives. Benett lagged just behind him. A curse word or two just audible at his back. Aramis slammed through a door, and careened onwards. A few at work in the armoury looked up at them in confusion. Aramis just heard Benett yelling at them to run. Through another door they were out of the armoury, freedom was tantalisingly close. He had to reach the gateway… and then the stables.

It was then the castle shook with the force of the blast. The deep boom and following rumble nearly had Aramis off his feet. He stopped. What he had done suddenly hit him. He turned to look back for a sorrowful moment, and found Benett charging forwards, fist raised.

And then Benett hit him.

Aramis fell back, striking his head on the stone floor.

Darkness moved in.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote is by Tidhar. 
> 
> Translations will appear if you hover your mouse over them (and apologies if they are incorrect, I've used Google Translate!) but if they don't work for you the translated text is copied at the bottom.

**Part Two  
**

_Pawns are such fascinating pieces too._  
_So small, almost insignificant, and yet--they can depose kings._ _  
Don't you find that interesting?_

“Athos, a word.”

He turned to find Treville at his shoulder. “Of course.”

They were having a short break for refreshments. While the food was brought in Athos snagged a glass of wine and followed Treville outside. The two walked some distance down the corridor and settled before a window, well out of earshot of the assembled dignitaries.

“What do you think?” Treville leaned against the sill and settled a thoughtful gaze on Athos.

“I think waging a war on two fronts will stretch our forces a little thin.”

“Exactly, I’m not sure how much stock to put in these reports of movements along the Netherlands border. In there they all seem to take it as a sure sign the Spanish will attack, but our spies have not yet confirmed it.”

“To move forces north when they are needed to the south would seem unwise. It could be a ruse.”

“And what if it isn’t?”

Athos took a long sip from his glass. “And therein lies the difficulty of your position.”

Treville sighed. “Sometimes I feel like I’m playing a game of chess. You move a piece, just to lose a piece. Only it’s men’s lives you’re playing with.”

“Do you regret taking the position?”

Treville was quiet for a moment before answering. “Better me at the King’s side than somebody else. We’ve both come to learn that much. Do you regret taking your position?”

Athos stared down into the deep red wine. Treville might be the one playing chess, but he was the one having to watch the men fall. “Somebody has to do it… We should get back.”

He hated this part of the job as much as the bloody battlefield. Having to rub shoulders with the other dignitaries, putting on airs and graces. He’d never liked it back when he’d been the Comte. He felt like he was pretending to be somebody else. It wasn’t until he joined the musketeers that he’d really felt at home. Athos took in a deep breath and prepared himself to go back into the lion’s den.

They stepped away from the window.

From down the corridor the world exploded.

Athos felt himself blown from his feet, and then there was nothing.

**~oOo~**

“Athos? Athos, wake up. Can you hear me?”

He let out a groan and tried to pry his eyes open.

“That’s it, you’re all right.”

There was a high pitched ringing sound surrounding Treville’s voice. Athos longed to shake his head to be rid of it, but he surmised that would not be a good idea. He put all his effort into opening his eyes and Treville’s face gradually blurred into view.

“Wha… What happened?” He coughed, and tried to push himself up.

Treville’s hands were there to help.

“An explosion. Come on, we should see if there are survivors.”

They lurched to their feet and stumbled towards the scene of devastation.

When they got as close as they could Athos turned away with a strangled choke.

There would be no survivors. Nobody could have survived that. The floor had fallen through, the remains of the room were rubble. Nothing was left. Dust filled the air and pieces of stonework still fell. It wouldn’t be safe to get any closer.

“I don’t think there’s anything we can do here.” Treville gently pulled at his arm and led him away.

Athos covered his mouth with a sleeve and coughed. “How did this happen?”

“I don’t know… I don’t know.” Treville sounded dazed.

They were still somewhat shocked by it all.

Men came running past, and stopped short as they reached the room. There was nothing to be done. There was nobody to save.

Athos felt a trickle of blood run down his face. Treville was similarly scratched, no doubt by flying debris. The world seemed strangely detached. And then there was a man in front of him, taking his face in hand.

“Forgive me sir, let me see.”

Athos tried to pull away. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding. Will you let me take you to the infirmary?”

“No, I told you, I’m fine.”

“Go, Athos.” Treville cut in. “Go, and I’ll come with you.”

**~oOo~**

Once they were finished in the infirmary Treville sought out whoever was left of the command, while Athos went to help with the clean up. Bodies had to be removed, and the structure had to be made safe.

When Athos woke up that morning he couldn’t have imagined he would be spending the rest of the day pulling dead men from rubble. As he hefted stone with the others his mind set to work… was this an accident? Or was it intentional? Had Spanish spies infiltrated the castle? Nothing was known at the moment, it was all conjecture. All he could do to help right now was move debris and retrieve bodies.

He recognised most of the commanders. They were broken and bloody, but he knew them. He knew their names, their lineage, what lands they came from. But there were nameless servants and guards amongst them. Death touched all men equally. The explosion had not discriminated.

Athos continued working in something of a daze. He supposed his senses would come back to him later, and he could numb them with alcohol then.

As it happened Treville found him before he reached his room. Athos was most grateful to see he had a bottle in hand. They collapsed at a table in his room, Athos only rose to find a couple of glasses and pour out large drinks for the two of them. He felt completely drained in every way possible, and he supposed Treville was suffering from something similar.

“Any news?” Athos asked with a hoarse voice.

“The Captain of the castle garrison is still alive. He seems to be taking charge.”

“What did he say?”

“They have a man in custody who they believe might be responsible. He worked in the armoury apparently, he’s saying nothing though.”

“I want to talk to him.”

“Let them do their work.”

“You think they’re capable of getting answers?” Athos asked somewhat skeptically.

“I think they need to try.”

“You know they’ll simply beat him senseless and claim he confessed. We need answers, we need to know if it was intentional, and if it was we need to know if he was working alone, if there are any more out there, if…”

“Give them a couple of days at least. Feelings are running high. This happened on their watch, they need to feel as if they’re doing something.”

“Even if they’re only ruining our chance to make sense of this mess? Will there be anything left after a couple of days?”

“If you go down there they’ll just see the musketeers swooping in to take over. You’ll get their backs up, and then you’ll get nothing.”

Athos gave a sad smile. “You truly are becoming a man of politics.”

The look of disgust on Treville’s face told Athos what he thought of that.

After a mouthful of wine Treville changed the subject. “They want to move us. They fear our lives may still be in danger if there are others out there.”

Athos raised an eyebrow. “ _If_ it was an attack rather than an accident.”

“It was an attack, it has to be. An explosion timed to coincide with our meeting… this was no accident.”

“We can’t know for sure, not unless that prisoner speaks.”

“Will you come?”

“I’m not going anywhere without answers. We nearly died, a lot of men _did_ die. I need answers.”

Treville examined Athos over the rim of his glass and took another long drink. “I thought you would say that.”

“I take it you mean to leave?”

“I’m the Minister for War. I don’t get the luxury of a choice.” Treville drained his glass and got to his feet. “Enjoy the rest of that bottle, and get some rest.”

“Goodnight, Minister.”

Treville paused with his hand on the door and looked back. “I hope you find your answers.”

**~oOo~**

The next day Treville was moved on. All of the soldiers were on alert, and all of the civilians were on edge. Gossip ran rife, everybody had a story about a suspicious man lurking in the shadows. But the only one who’s story really mattered was the prisoner’s. Athos was itching to speak with the man, but he complied with Treville’s advice and held back. When a couple of days had passed he approached the prison guard and as he expected he was brushed off. They wouldn’t let him in. Athos requested to speak with the Captain, but he was a hard man to pin down. He was taking charge in wake of the explosion, Athos couldn’t blame him for being busy, but this was _important_.

Another few days passed before Athos managed to speak with the Captain. He found the man in the middle of coordinating a questioning of the armoury workers.

“Captain Lecocq, I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I am Captain Athos of the King’s Musketeers.”

He gave a dead eyed look over his paperwork. “I know who you are.”

“Might I be of any assistance?”

“Everything is in hand here. You can help by following the Minister and going somewhere safe.” Lecocq turned his attention back to the paperwork.

Athos internally gave a sigh. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Well, I would rather make myself useful. Perhaps by speaking with the prisoner?”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I might be able to get him to talk. I might be able to find some answers.”

“We don’t need your help. We already know it’s the Spanish.”

“And how do you know that?”

Lecocq tore his gaze from the paperwork and settled it on Athos with an undeniable air of smugness. “Well, for a start he looks as if he has Spanish blood in him. And then there’s the fact he’s speaking Spanish.”

“Is he now? And what has he told you in Spanish, hm?”

The smugness fell away a little at that. “None of us speak that accursed language. But he knows French, he was working here after all. It won’t be much longer before he breaks.”

“Let me talk to him. A different approach might yield results.”

“Don’t worry yourself about it, we’ll get results. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m busy. Good day to you, Captain.”

Athos near enough growled as he stalked away. Lecocq might as well have said ‘I’ll get results, I’ll take the glory’, Athos could see straight through him.

Every attempt to see the prisoner in the coming week was rebuffed. Eventually Athos had to threaten to get the Minister for War involved, but even that didn’t move Lecocq. He probably considered the Minister was well out of the way for now. Athos wrote a letter to Treville all the same. If it was going to take orders from the Minister to get what he wanted then that is what he would seek. It was just going to delay matters unfortunately.

One morning Athos found Lecocq mustering a few men to ride out.

“Captain! Where are you going? Have you any information?”

“We are going to Saint Lizier, the prisoner let slip those words, and a name.”

“What name?”

“That is not your concern.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Before the Captain had a chance to object Athos went to find his horse. It was about a day’s ride to Saint Lizier, and Lecocq did his best to ignore Athos’ presence. He soon found out the name though, the soldiers began to question the locals about a ‘Romero’.

Nobody knew a man of that name and nobody had seen any strangers recently. Athos made his way over to tackle Lecocq.

“What did the prisoner say about this Romero? Are you sure he’s an accomplice?”

“He said nothing, just the name and this place.”

“Nothing at all?”

“He was speaking... under duress. That was all he managed.”

“So we’ve ridden out here for nothing.” Athos scowled. “It could mean anything. It could be his father, a childhood friend, _anybody_ . Men come out with all sorts of useless, irrelevant, information when speaking _under duress_. If you had just let me talk to him…”

“We may find something yet. I will organise a search of the place in the morning. The hour is getting late, we will spend the night at the inn. Go rest, and cool your temper.”

Athos very nearly shouted that there was nothing wrong with his temper. But then that wouldn’t be entirely true. He was getting frustrated with the foolishness of this man and his methods. They had just tortured a couple of words out of the prisoner and gone on a wild goose chase. Athos took in a deep breath and tried to let calm wash over him. Soon he would have orders from Treville, and then they would have to let him see the prisoner.

**~oOo~**

After spending a couple of days in Saint Lizier and returning to Foix empty handed Athos was desperate to receive Treville’s orders. Another few days passed before a boy rode in and searched for Athos with a missive. Athos near enough snatched his arm off, but he had enough about him to offer the lad a coin for his trouble. He barely took in a word of Treville’s letter as he made his way to the prison, he just ensured the important part about seeing the prisoner was there, as well as the Minister’s signature and seal.

The prison guard let out a sigh at seeing Athos approach. No doubt he was as tired of dealing with Athos as Athos was of dealing with him.

“For the last time, I’m not letting you through.”

“Oh yes you are, my friend.” Athos thrust Treville’s orders at him with a smile.

The guard gave them a read through and hummed unhelpfully. “Should really show the Captain first…”

“Whether you show him or not you’re going to have to let me in. It’s there in black and white. Your Captain can’t override that.”

“Very well.” The guard reached for his set of keys. “Dupont! Show Captain Athos to the Spanish prisoner.”

Another soldier took the key and bid Athos follow him. They made their way down some stairs and along rows of cells. Athos covered his nose with his sleeve at the stench. He was sure he would get used to it. It was just quite overwhelming at first. The guard came to a stop before a door and slid the key home into the lock. The door creaked open to reveal a dark room within, Athos couldn’t make anything out, all he could hear was the clink of chains.

The guard took a torch from the wall and placed it inside before motioning Athos over. “He’s chained to the wall, so he can’t get at you, just don’t go too close to him. Knock when you want to come out.”

Athos stepped in and the door closed behind him, the heavy wood slammed shut ominously. He peered into the room, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the flickering torchlight. Just as the guard had said, there was a figure chained to the wall. The man leaned against it, he was curled up, and hiding his face in his knees. Long, lank hair helped to conceal his features. Athos supposed the light must be hurting his eyes after spending most of his time in darkness. And then Athos noticed the tell tale signs of abuse. The dirty blood stained shirt, the dark bruising that marred the skin on show. His wrists were rubbed raw, and Athos was sure there would be more once he uncurled and revealed himself.

“It’s all right. I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk.”

At hearing Athos’ voice the slight trembling of the man’s frame suddenly stopped. He seemed to seize up. Was he scared?

“There’s no need to fear me. Will you show me your face?”

He shook his head.

“I want to talk about what happened. I think you know something about the explosion. Will you tell me your name at least?”

The prisoner seemed to press himself into the wall a little more.

“My name is Athos.”

A whimper issued forth from the man and he set to shaking again, even worse than before.

"No, tú no…" His hoarse voice was muffled by the arms circling his knees. “Tú no estás aquí…"

“Look at me, please.”

“El diablo ha venido a atormentarme.” A wracked sob accompanied the words.

“Just show me your face.”

Slowly the prisoner brought his head up and turned to Athos. Dull eyes peered through the unruly locks obscuring his face. _Familiar eyes_.

Maybe it was a trick of the light.

It had to be a trick of the light.

It couldn’t be _him_.

But under the scruff it looked like...

“Aramis?”

Something snapped.

The prisoner… _Aramis_ … surged to his feet and rushed forwards. His arms were pulled back as he reached the limits of his chains. Athos fell back and hit the wall, startled by the sudden movement. Aramis strained against his manacles, there was something wild and feral in him. His teeth were bared and he snarled like an animal.

“Salir te diablo!” Spittle flecked the air as he roared the words. “Déjame solo!”

Athos just stared in disbelief. “It can’t be you… you’re in Douai… It _can’t_ be you.”

The door flew open and the guard rushed in. He beat the prisoner back with a hefty wooden stick. Cries of pain split the air and Aramis retreated to the wall once again.

“Are you all right?” The guard turned to ask Athos.

“It can’t be him. It can’t be.” Athos looked up as if in a daze.

“We should get you out of here.”

The guard reached for him, but Athos pulled away. “No! I need to talk to him.”

“You can’t, he doesn’t make any sense. You’ve seen that already.”

“I have to try. He’s my brother.”

The guard looked more than a little surprised at that.

“Leave us. I’ll knock if I need you.”

“The Captain will have to hear about this.”

“Tell the Captain what you like. I’m not going, now leave us.”

Athos waited until the door was closed again, and then he turned his attention back to the man against the wall. It was Aramis. It looked like Aramis. It sounded like Aramis. But how could _this_ be Aramis?

He sat on the floor, legs spread in front of him this time. Hands lax in his lap. Athos noted the swollen joints at his fingers that told of dislocation. No doubt part of the torture. His blank gaze was heartbreaking. Aramis’ eyes seemed to stare straight through Athos.

“You can’t be here.” Athos seemed stuck on disbelief. “How are you here?”

“Fantasmas están por todas partes en estos días…”

Athos frowned. He couldn’t work out how Aramis had gone from being a monk in Douai to being a murderous traitor in Foix.

He took in the thin frame of his friend. The air of neglect told of more than just imprisonment.

“What happened to you?” Athos whispered.

“Por qué te importa?” Aramis spat.

Athos didn’t understand. Why was he speaking Spanish?

“Why don’t you speak in a language we can both understand, hm?”

Aramis fixed his dead eyes on Athos’. “No estoy para hablar con usted, para miro, o darte la satisfacción de mi atención.” And then he looked away again.

His answer to that suggestion was clear enough.

“Will you let me fix your hands at least?” Athos moved forwards and reached out.

“No me toques!” He pulled his hands back with a rattle of the chains.

That would be a ‘no’ then...

“Aramis, talk to me, please.”

He shook his head and stared at the floor as if he could set it alight with his gaze.

“I need to understand. I need to know what you’re doing here… how you’re involved in _this_.” Aramis remained mute. “Tell me it was an accident, tell me you’re not to blame.”

When he spoke his voice was as hollow and dead as his eyes. “Lo hice. Yo quería que murieras.”

“Aramis, I can’t understand you.”

“Usted nunca ha hecho.”

“I want to help you.”

“Te odio.”

Athos sighed. He felt useless. He couldn’t help Aramis if he couldn’t understand him. There were no answers here, just endless questions. Athos swiped a hand over his tired face. He needed to talk to a friendly face, and ideally somebody who knew Aramis.

This wasn’t getting him anywhere.

“I will come back tomorrow.”

Aramis curled up on the floor and turned his back to Athos.

“I cannot say that I am pleased to see you like this. But if it means anything, I am pleased to see you.”

There was no answer.

Athos went to knock on the door. It broke his heart to leave Aramis, but he needed help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "My name is Athos."
> 
> A whimper issued forth from the man and he set to shaking again, even worse than before.
> 
> "No, not you." His hoarse voice was muffled by the arms circling his knees. "You can't be here…"
> 
> "Look at me, please."
> 
> "The devil has come to torment me." A wracked sob accompanied the words.
> 
> ~oOo~
> 
> His teeth were bared and he snarled like an animal.
> 
> "Get out you devil!" Spittle flecked the air as he roared the words. "Leave me alone!"
> 
> Athos just stared in disbelief. "It can't be you… you're in Douai… It can't be you."
> 
> ~oOo~
> 
> "You can't be here." Athos seemed stuck on disbelief. "How are you here?"
> 
> "Ghosts are everywhere these days…"
> 
> Athos frowned. He couldn't work out how Aramis had gone from being a monk in Douai to being a murderous traitor in Foix.
> 
> He took in the thin frame of his friend. The air of neglect told of more than just imprisonment.
> 
> "What happened to you?" Athos whispered.
> 
> "Why do you care?" Aramis spat.
> 
> Athos didn't understand. Why was he speaking Spanish?
> 
> "Why don't you speak in a language we can both understand, hm?"
> 
> Aramis fixed his dead eyes on Athos'. "I am not to talk to you, to look at you, or give you the satisfaction of my attention." And then he looked away again.
> 
> His answer to that suggestion was clear enough.
> 
> "Will you let me fix your hands at least?" Athos moved forwards and reached out.
> 
> "Don't touch me!" He pulled his hands back with a rattle of the chains.
> 
> That would be a 'no' then...
> 
> "Aramis, talk to me, please."
> 
> He shook his head and stared at the floor as if he could set it alight with his gaze.
> 
> "I need to understand. I need to know what you're doing here… how you're involved in this." Aramis remained mute. "Tell me it was an accident, tell me you're not to blame."
> 
> When he spoke his voice was as hollow and dead as his eyes. "I did it. I wanted you to die."
> 
> "Aramis, I can't understand you."
> 
> "You never have done."
> 
> "I want to help you."
> 
> "I hate you."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story didn't go to the top of the page when I posted the last chapter (possibly because it was sitting on here as a draft?). Anyway, heads up - you might have missed it.
> 
> Also, I'm back at work now. It's stealing my time, energy, and sanity. Updates will be more sporadic, but don't worry, this story is finished and by hook or by crook it'll be posted!

The next day Athos sent letters to Treville and Porthos. Treville would not have gotten too far away, and his help would be much appreciated. Porthos’ journey would be a longer one, but if anybody could bring Aramis back to them it would be him.

True to his word Athos returned to Aramis’ cell. It seemed as if the man hadn’t moved an inch since Athos last saw him. He was still curled up on his side with his back facing the room.

“I’ve come back.”

Nothing.

“I’ve brought you some biscuits. It’s not much, but I’m sure it’s better than whatever they’re giving you here.”

Still nothing.

Athos was wary of approaching after yesterday’s outburst. He just placed the pouch on a low bench that sat against the side wall. It would be within Aramis’ reach if he wanted any.

“Porthos will be coming soon. Won’t you be glad to see him?”

Silence.

“I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you. He always talks about you you know. We’ve missed you a great deal.”

Something of a bitter laugh breached the air.

“I thought you were safe, in a distant monastery, a world away from here…” 

Athos kept up his one sided conversation, talking about everything and nothing, until there was a knock at the door. He went outside to be faced with Lecocq’s grim features.

“So you know him then?”

“I do. His name is Aramis. He was a musketeer.”

“What is a Spaniard doing in the musketeer regiment?”

“He’s French.”

“Looks Spanish to me.”

“He has Spanish ancestry, as do many, but he is French.”

The Captain seemed unconvinced, but he didn’t argue any further. “Will he talk to you?”

“Only in Spanish.”

“Then what is the point of you being here?”

“I hope I can get through to him. A familiar face just being here might help.”

“My guard said he nearly killed you.”

Athos scoffed at that. “An exaggeration! He was just shocked to see me. As I was him.”

The Captain let out a frustrated huff of air. “What is a musketeer doing involved in this?”

“I wish I knew... when I last saw him he was at a monastery in Douai. I can’t begin to fathom how he ended up here. But give me time, and I will find out.”

“We shall see.” The Captain said doubtfully.

“What did you learn from the men in the armoury?” 

“Not much, the one who caught him was the only one with any information. A man called Benett. He said Aramis was taken on by Chardin - he was in charge of the armoury before your friend took over. They don’t know where Aramis came from. Apparently he wheedled his way into Chardin’s affections, Benett had much to say about that. And then Chardin died under suspicious circumstances after taking a bottle from Aramis. Benett believes it contained poison.”

“You don’t think that is jumping to conclusions somewhat?”

Lecocq gave a shrug. “The pieces fit. Aramis took Chardin’s position. He had the powder moved beneath the meeting room, and then Benett found Aramis running away from it moments before the explosion.”

“It could all be down to coincidence. You have no solid proof.”

“We’ll have it when he confesses.”

“ _ If _ he confesses.”  
  
“I’m sure it will be enough to convict him at trial in any case. Your friendship with him blinds you to the truth.”

Athos tried not to growl. “My friendship with him informs me that this is not something he is capable of doing.”

“Men change. They turn traitor for all sorts of reasons, coin-”

Athos abruptly cut him off. “Aramis isn’t like that.”

“Every man has his price. Even you.” 

“I know him. He would not trade coin for lives.”

“Yes, honour and duty are more musketeer currency aren’t they? That’s what you take lives for.” There was a sneer to Lecocq’s voice. “It’s only us mere mortals that deal with coin... Go back to your friend. I think if you look closely you’ll find he’s fallen a little.”

Athos watched the Captain retreat from the prison and waited until he was gone. As far as he was concerned, keeping Lecocq as far away from Aramis as possible was a good idea. He had already overseen Aramis’ torture, and should Athos fail no doubt he would turn to those brutal methods again.   


With a long sigh Athos went back into the dim cell. Aramis was still in the same position. Athos’ heart sank at seeing the pouch discarded and the biscuits crumbled to pieces on the floor.

“Not hungry then?”

He would give anything to have Aramis turn to him with that devil may care grin on his face.

But he remained still and silent.

“No matter. I will bring you some more tomorrow.”

**~oOo~**

Athos’ visits were always the same. He was faced with silence, or words spat in Spanish. He felt useless. He wasn’t making any progress, and Lecocq was breathing down his neck. So it was a relief when a runner came to tell him Treville had arrived.

Athos went to meet him at the gateway.

As soon as Treville came into view he near enough shouted across the distance. “Aramis?! It’s Aramis?” 

Athos waited for him to approach before responding. “I know, I still can’t believe it, but the prisoner is Aramis. Would you like to see him now or do you need a drink first?”

“Take me to him, and tell me everything.”

Athos spoke as they walked on. “I was allowed into the prison on your orders, and was most surprised to find Aramis chained to the wall. He went wild at first and strained to get at me, until the guard beat him back.”

Treville winced. “Go on.”

“He spoke in Spanish. I couldn’t understand a word, although ‘diablo’ was clear enough.” Athos gave a frustrated sigh. “He won’t talk to me, either he rails at me in Spanish or he remains silent. I haven’t got anything out of him.”

“If you haven’t I don’t know if I’ll do any better…”

“Perhaps he’ll respond to the authority figure he sees you as. In his eyes you’re probably still the Captain.”

“I can’t imagine how he came to be here. Can you explain it?”

“I wish I could.”

“I half thought you’d gone mad when I read your letter.”

“Madness on my part would probably have made more sense. I’ve written to Porthos as well, but it may take him some time to get here.”

“As long as he gets here, that’s all that matters.”

They reached the prison and the usual guard showed them in.

Athos held back as they reached Aramis’ cell. “I’ll let you go in alone, see how he responds to you.”

Treville gave a nod and stepped forwards.

“His fingers looked damaged, perhaps dislocated, I couldn’t help... he wouldn’t let me touch him. Be careful, but try to fix them if you can. He must be in pain.”

“I will, if he lets me.”

The door closed and Athos set to pacing the corridor. There was an occasional shouted stream of Spanish, but Athos couldn’t tell what was passing between them. The voices settled down, and then there was a yelp of pain. As heartbreaking as it was there was a grain of hope in that sound. Perhaps Aramis had let Treville set his fingers. Perhaps Treville was getting through to him. But the silence in wake of that cry was slightly worrying… No quiet voices filtered through the door, no shouts of Spanish either.

“Open it up.” Athos barked at the guard.

He did as he was told and Athos rushed in to find Aramis had Treville on the floor in his grasp. The chains were wrapped tight around Treville’s throat, he was struggling for breath and trying to claw at Aramis. 

"Daño… Daño…Herirme...” Aramis muttered as he held on tight.

“Let him go!” Athos roared and went to pry Aramis away.

“Se suponía que morir!”

And then the guard was there with his stick, beating Aramis until he released Treville.

Treville heaved in a gasp of air and Athos pulled him away. They stumbled through the door and the guard slammed it shut behind them.

“Are you all right?”

After a few more deep breaths Treville seemed to regain a little colour and managed a nod. “Thought I… Thought I was…”

“Don’t try to speak. Get your breath back first.”

Treville rubbed at his sore throat, and when his breath settled down he tried again. “Thought I was getting somewhere. He was calm, he let me approach, but then when I put his finger back… It’s my fault, I should have been more wary.” 

“At least you got it back in, just the one?”

“The rest are swollen but not out of joint. What have they been doing to him? He looks like he’s been beaten half to hell.”

“That’s because he has. Captain Lecocq’s methods tend towards the brutal. Thankfully he is letting me try things my way, but I don’t know how much longer I can fend him off.” Athos reached down to help Treville to his feet. “Come on, we can go up to my room.” 

“No. I came here to see Aramis, so let me see Aramis.”

“If you’re sure…” 

“We have no time to waste by the sounds of it.”

Athos motioned for the guard to open the door and they went in together. 

Aramis was curled up against the wall again, his face hidden away.

“Aramis? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Treville’s voice was strangely gentle. “I was trying to help you. Doesn’t your hand feel better now?”

Silence.

A different tack was needed.

“Aramis, soldier! You look at me when I’m speaking to you!”

Treville’s sudden bark nearly made Athos jump.

At that Aramis tilted his head to one side and settled an eye on them. “Usted no tiene ningún poder sobre mí ahora.”

At least they had his attention. “We need to know what happened. Will you tell us how you came to be here? Let’s go back, all the way back to Douai. Why did you leave the monastery?”

“Desaparecer. Dios os perdonó, no lo haré.”

“Were you cast out?”

He flinched. “Pensando siempre lo mejor de mí…”

Athos cleared his throat. “The Captain here thinks you turned traitor for money.”

Aramis shot to his feet with a growl and lunged towards Athos. They remained just outside the limit of his chains. “Eres el traidor! Llamé a usted hermano, pero eres una serpiente!”

“I take it the Captain is wrong then?”

Aramis just snarled. There was such vitriol in his eyes… It was unsettling.

“If he is wrong you have to tell me.”

“Usted puede exigir nada de mí!”

Just then the guard opened the door, interrupting them. “Forgive me, Minister, Captain Lecocq would like a word with you.”

Treville looked between Aramis and the guard before giving an exasperated sigh. “Very well. Athos, I will speak with you later.”

Once Treville had gone Athos sat down and leaned against the wall opposite Aramis. He watched his friend with sad eyes. This man seemed a pale imitation of Aramis. He was thin, trembling, hollow... Far from the exuberant character Athos knew. This man was lifeless. And though it broke his heart to see Aramis this way, it was true - he was happy to see his friend. They had been apart for so long, part of him couldn’t help but rejoice at their reunion. But that part of him wanted to stride over and embrace Aramis and something hurt deep in his chest at the thought he couldn’t. If Athos approached he risked being attacked. _ Aramis wouldn’t do that _ … his heart was telling him. However  _ this _ Aramis would. He had already seen it with his own two eyes. This Aramis was changed, he was something different. But  _ his _ Aramis was still in there somewhere.

“Who is Romero?”

Suddenly Athos felt all of Aramis’ focus settle on him.

“Un hombre mejor de lo que nunca será.”

“Is he a friend?”

“Usted no sabe el significado de la palabra.” A slight snarl came to his features. 

“Tell me about Romero.”

“No lo haré.”

“What does he mean to you? He clearly means something. Please Aramis, I’m trying to help you.”

“Usted está tratando de ayudarse a sí mismo.” A twisted sort of smile graced Aramis’ lips. “Romper el prisionero y tomar la gloria. Al igual que el otro.”

“ _ Please _ …” 

“Veo a través de ti ahora. No me vas a engañar de nuevo!”

“Aramis, if you won’t speak to me, I can’t help you.” Athos’ voice turned hard. The frustration was building. “You have to use French.”

All this time they had been separated by distance. Now they were in the same room, but still separated by a language. It left Athos feeling shut out and useless. He longed to  _ do something _ ...

“Usted no quiere que me ayude. Vete.”

“Speak French, dammit!” The words just burst out, Athos wished he could call them back the minute they left his mouth. He hadn’t meant to shout. 

Aramis reacted in an instant. He turned about and curled up, facing the wall.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted, I didn’t mean… I’m sorry, Aramis.”

Nothing.

“Please look at me.”

Silence.

“I just want to help.”

It seemed their conversation was over. 

Athos reached into his pocket and pulled out the usual pouch of biscuits. He placed them down on the bench and retreated to the door. 

“I will see you tomorrow.”

**~oOo~**

After his outburst an idea had occurred to Athos. He went about collecting books. Some were not all that easy to get a hold of, but he did what he could. When he wasn’t with Aramis, Athos could be found pouring over their pages in his room. One such evening he heard a knock at the door. Athos closed his book and bid the visitor enter. It was Treville. He went to sit down opposite Athos and moved a few tomes aside to lean upon the table. He raised an eyebrow at seeing “El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha”.

Athos chose to ignore it. “No change?”

“No change.”

They had kept visiting Aramis, sometimes alone, sometimes together, but they achieved nothing. Nothing apart from broken biscuits.

“I am afraid I cannot stay much longer. As much as I want to help Aramis, I have a war to run.”

“I assumed that would be the case...” Still, Athos could not keep the disappointment from his voice. 

“I’m sure Porthos will arrive soon. He will be able to help you with Aramis.”

“It’s not that I’m worried about.” Athos ran a tired hand down his face. “I fear Lecocq stays his hand because you are here.”

Treville gave a tight smile, as if he already knew. “That is a fear we share. All I can do is impress upon him that you are in charge when it comes to Aramis.”

“That might mean precious little once you’ve gone. I know he has been pushing to see Aramis punished.”

“Indeed. He has accosted me several times on the matter.” A look of revulsion took Treville’s face. “If he gets his way he’ll torture a confession from Aramis and then have him hung. He’ll get an unsympathetic trial - if he gets one at all.”

“And you might be all that is standing in the way of that.” Athos pointed out dryly. 

“I know, dammit… I know. But I cannot risk a war over one man. I will do what I can while I am here, but you may be alone in a matter of days. If you need me, send a message. Keep me informed, regardless.”

“I will.”

**~oOo~**

The next day Athos took a few books down to the prison with him. He went to place the biscuits in their usual spot and then spread the tomes out before him. Aramis guardedly watched his actions, but didn’t say a word.

After flicking through a few pages Athos looked up at Aramis to find his friend’s gaze had turned curious. Athos gave him a half smile and found the words he sought…  _ I want to help you _ .

“Quiero ayudarte.”

Aramis frowned at hearing Spanish come from Athos’ lips. 

He flicked through a few more pages, and then examined the notes he had made…  _ You are my brother. Let me help you _ .

“Eres mi hermano. Deja que te ayude.”

“Español?” Aramis asked with confusion.

Athos nodded, notes in hand, finding the words…  _ To understand. I want to understand. _

“Entender. Quiero entender.”

Aramis looked for a moment as if he were smiling against his own wishes. And then realisation hit and the hollow look returned. “La comprensión no le ayudará. No diré nada.”

Athos frantically turned the pages, trying to piece together what Aramis had said. The words went by too fast. “Lenta, por favor.”

Aramis didn’t seem too inclined to slow down as requested. A sly look took his face. There was a touch of the old Aramis behind it. “Usted tendrá que mantenerse al día.”

“Lenta, por favor.” He tried again.

“Solo un poco…” Aramis said, comically slowly.

The sound of turning pages…  _ Solo _ … only, just, alone… _ un poco _ … a little… “Just a little?”

The smile betrayed Aramis again. Athos couldn’t tell if he were amused at Athos’ attempts, pleased by them, or what… but despite everything there was a smile on Aramis’ face. It lightened Athos’ heart. It gave him hope.

They continued their broken conversation. Athos and Aramis were separated by a language, but the books between them now gave a fragile connection. Athos didn’t get any answers, but that would come later. This was a learning process. He was working out how best to translate and how to form his own words. He was slow, and his attempts were no doubt clumsy, but something in Aramis seemed to respond to an interaction that wasn’t torture or an interrogation. Athos felt he was laying down stones at the start of a path, one that would hopefully lead to answers and salvation for Aramis.

It was dark when Athos finally gathered his books and bid Aramis goodnight. But he returned first thing the next morning. On entering the cell he smiled at what he found - the pouch was empty, and no biscuits lay crumbled upon the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here are the translations:
> 
> "Hurt… Hurt…Hurt me..." Aramis muttered as he held on tight.
> 
> "Let him go!" Athos roared and went to pry Aramis away.
> 
> "You were supposed to die!"
> 
> And then the guard was there with his stick, beating Aramis until he released Treville.
> 
> ~oOo~
> 
> "Aramis, soldier! You look at me when I'm speaking to you!"
> 
> Treville's sudden bark nearly made Athos jump.
> 
> At that Aramis tilted his head to one side and settled an eye on them. "You have no power over me now."
> 
> At least they had his attention. "We need to know what happened. Will you tell us how you came to be here? Let's go back, all the way back to Douai. Why did you leave the monastery?"
> 
> "Go away. God spared you, I will not."
> 
> "Were you cast out?"
> 
> He flinched. "Always thinking the best of me…"
> 
> Athos cleared his throat. "The Captain here thinks you turned traitor for money."
> 
> Aramis shot to his feet with a growl and lunged towards Athos. They remained just outside the limit of his chains. "You're the traitor! I called you brother, but you're a snake!"
> 
> "I take it the Captain is wrong then?"
> 
> Aramis just snarled. There was such vitriol in his eyes… It was unsettling.
> 
> "If he is wrong you have to tell me."
> 
> "You can demand nothing of me!"
> 
> ~oOo~
> 
> "Who is Romero?"
> 
> Suddenly Athos felt all of Aramis' focus settle on him.
> 
> "A better man than you will ever be."
> 
> "Is he a friend?"
> 
> "You don't know the meaning of the word." A slight snarl came to his features.
> 
> "Tell me about Romero."
> 
> "I won't."
> 
> "What does he mean to you? He clearly means something. Please Aramis, I'm trying to help you."
> 
> "You're trying to help yourself." A twisted sort of smile graced Aramis' lips. "Break the prisoner and take the glory. Just like the other one."
> 
> "Please…"
> 
> "I see through you now. You will not deceive me again!"
> 
> "Aramis, if you won't speak to me, I can't help you." Athos' voice turned hard. The frustration was building. "You have to use French."
> 
> All this time they had been separated by distance. Now they were in the same room, but still separated by a language. It left Athos feeling shut out and useless. He longed to do something...
> 
> "You don't want to help me. Go away."
> 
> ~oOo~
> 
> Aramis looked for a moment as if he were smiling against his own wishes. And then realisation hit and the hollow look returned. "Understanding won't help you. I will say nothing."
> 
> Athos frantically turned the pages, trying to piece together what Aramis had said. The words went by too fast. "Lenta, por favor."
> 
> Aramis didn't seem too inclined to slow down as requested. A sly look took his face. There was a touch of the old Aramis behind it. "You will have to keep up."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive the late update, work is indeed kicking me in the face. I finally found a moment to breathe amongst the madness, so here it is, enjoy!

The more Athos spoke with Aramis the faster his attempts at translating became. Nothing meaningful passed between them except perhaps the building of a fragile sort of trust. Athos feared that Aramis would shut down again once his clumsy Spanish turned from comments on the weather to questions about the explosion. But for now he was enjoying having something of his old friend back. Aramis wasn’t even close to being what he was before, but Athos could detect shades of the real Aramis in each half smile.

And then Treville left. Lecocq only waited a couple of days before tackling Athos. He was on his way to see Aramis with his arms full of books when the Captain struck.

“Athos, I hear you’ve been speaking Spanish to the prisoner. What have you learned?”

“Nothing yet, but I am just coming to grips with the language.”

“Well, I hope you get something from him soon. The people want justice. They’re baying for blood.”

“And they’ll bay for yours if it turns out you let a network of spies go undetected in your eagerness to string up one man.”

Lecocq sniffed. “Time is running out, Athos.”

“Then be assured, I will use whatever time I have to find answers.”

“Good… I also hear you’ve been giving the prisoner food.”

The Captain glanced down to Athos’ pocket. With his arms full of books Athos could do nothing to stop Lecocq snagging the biscuits and waving them in his face.

“This stops.”

The pouch was dropped and there was an audible crunch as Lecocq’s heel ground the biscuits into pieces.

If looks could kill, Lecocq would be dead.

Athos simply pushed past him without another word. He didn’t want to say anything he would regret. No doubt Lecocq would use it to withdraw access to Aramis or worse. His friend had to be the priority. Taking Lecocq down a peg or two would have to wait.

When Athos entered the cell Aramis glanced to the bench with a look of confusion. He seemed to be getting used to the routine, and Athos sitting down without placing biscuits on the bench was a break from that.

“Lo lamento.” Athos didn’t need to look up that word... _sorry_. “El capitán los llevó.”

After hearing that Lecocq had taken the biscuits Aramis looked slightly hurt and shuffled back to lean against the wall. Something in Athos’ heart twisted at the thought his battle hardened friend was reduced to pining for biscuits. But perhaps it wasn’t just biscuits Lecocq had taken from Aramis.

Athos decided it was time to push a little for answers. Lecocq wasn’t going to spare him any more time to be gentle.

“Aramis…” He was careful to keep his tone light. “Que es Romero?” _Who is Romero?_

And just as he feared a veil seemed to fall between them. Aramis dropped his gaze to the floor and shook his head frantically.

“No se puede hablar con usted.” _Can’t talk to you_ …

“Por qué no?” _Why not?_ What was it about this Romero that had Aramis react so?

“No eres mi amigo.” He turned to the wall and hid his face.

Athos thought he understood the words, but he took a moment to check… _You are not my friend_. It was like a knife to his heart.

“Of course I’m your friend. I will _always_ be your friend.” Athos dispensed with Spanish in his haste to respond. He had meant to sound strong, but a desolate tone tainted his words.

“Pretendes.” _You pretend_ …

There was a lump in Athos’ throat. He was suspended between grief and anger. Grief that Aramis could say those words, and anger at whoever put those ideas into his head.

“That’s not true. Who told you that? Was it Romero?”

“Puedo ver.” _I can see..._

“No, Aramis. _No._ ”

“Usted hacer preguntas...” _You will ask questions…_ Athos frantically flicked through pages, trying to keep up. “Y entonces usted hacerme daño.”

_And then you will hurt me._

Athos felt like he had been punched in the gut. How the hell could Aramis think that?!

He got to his feet and took a step forwards. Aramis seemed to cower away. “Listen to me. I would never hurt you. _Never_.”

“No eres mi amigo.” He said again. “Usted nunca ha sido mi amigo.” _You are not my friend_. _You have never been my friend_.

Athos opened his mouth to respond, but then Aramis looked up with a defiant eye. “Me usaste.”

 _You used me_.

And he turned away again. “Déjame solo.”

 _Leave me alone_.

“Aramis, please… por favor… escucha.” Athos dropped to his knees, still leaving space between them. “No es verdad.”

 _Please... listen... It’s not true_. He begged, hoping the use of Spanish might help in some way.

“Déjame solo.”

Athos reached his hand out, hovering, hesitating at breaching the distance. Useless words stuck in his throat, but if he could just touch Aramis… A vision of Treville being choked flashed through his mind. He pushed it aside and then his fingers brushed Aramis’ arm. The reaction was instantaneous. Aramis shot back as if scalded. He scrambled the length of the wall until he reached the limit of his chains and then he yelled with such vitriol.

“Déjame solo!”

Athos held his hands up and backed away.

He felt helpless once again. His words were useless, his touch couldn’t comfort. All he could do was watch as Aramis trembled in his shackles.

“Déjame solo... ” Those words again. But this time they were broken and fragile. “Por favor… salir.”

 _Please… go_.

Athos got to his feet and backed away a few steps. His mind raced, wondering how he could salvage the situation. Porthos would know what to do. He always knew what to say and how to act. His beginnings might have been humble, but he was in touch with his heart in a way that Athos could never be. The cold, formal upbringing of a Comte left him detached from his feelings. They were to be ignored and pushed aside, or smothered with wine if need be. The musketeers had done much to help. Forging the bonds of brotherhood let him feel _something,_ but it would never override the fundamental fault at the heart of who he was. Athos felt like a house built on broken foundations. Everything might look proper from the outside, but there was something cracked and crumbling deep within, threatening to bring the whole thing down. If Athos couldn’t deal with his own emotions how could he hope to put Aramis back together again?

At a loss, Athos turned to the door and knocked. The guard moved to open it.

Before he stepped through Athos looked back at his old friend.

He wanted to say something.

He should say something.

But Aramis was pressed against the wall, face hidden behind his arms, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

Athos opened his mouth, half hoping the right words would just spring forth.

Nothing passed his lips but a sigh.

What could he say? This couldn’t be fixed with words. They were useless… _he_ was useless.

So he left, hating himself and every step that took him away.

**~oOo~**

The rest of the day was spent away from musty books and darkened rooms. Athos took a stroll around Foix and ventured out to the surrounding countryside. He thought the fresh air would clear his head somewhat. The past weeks had been full of shock, frustration and grief. Athos felt he was no closer to understanding it all.

Athos lowered himself to sit against a tree trunk. He closed his eyes and took in the sounds around him… the calling of birds, the wind in the trees. For a moment he let the burdens slip from his shoulders. But then he felt guilty at the fact he was outside, enjoying the feel of the sun against his skin, when Aramis was chained up in a cell. Athos growled and scuffed his heel against the dirt. Worst of all he had started to make some progress, and now that had all gone up in smoke.

_You are not my friend. You have never been my friend._

Those words went round and round Athos’ head. He couldn’t let go of them, though they hurt. _It’s not Aramis_ … He tried to tell himself. Aramis would not have said those words. But it looked like Aramis, and beneath that rough, worn voice it sounded like Aramis.

Something had happened to him.  
  
What had happened to him?

Athos couldn’t fathom what it might be that had led Aramis down this path. What could make him turn traitor and deny his brothers? Athos inwardly cursed himself. It wasn’t yet proven that Aramis was a traitor, the case against him was circumstantial. He could still walk away a free man. A bitter laugh came at that thought. With Lecocq’s involvement Aramis wouldn’t be walking anywhere, except towards a noose.

Athos took in a deep breath and savoured air free of the prison’s foul taint. His resolve strengthened. He might not be the best person to help Aramis, but he was the only one here willing to do so. He couldn’t abandon his friend. Despite everything Aramis said, he was still a friend. Athos would fight through his own demons to reach Aramis, and the harder Aramis pushed him away the harder he would fight to get closer. His brother was still in there somewhere. Athos would just have to dig deep to find him. Tomorrow he would try again. Tomorrow he would collect some biscuits, and more - Lecocq be damned - and set to work. But the digging would be easier with help.

Athos leaned his head back against the trunk and watched the sunlight filtering through leaves high above.

“Please hurry, Porthos…”

**~oOo~**

Athos rose the next morning with renewed determination. But on his way to the kitchens a boy waylaid him.

“Sir, I’ve a message - the stable master needs to speak to you.”

“What about?” He frowned.

“About your horse, Sir.”

“I gathered that much, but what about her? Is there a problem?”

“I don’t know, I was just asked to fetch you.”

Athos gave a slight sigh. “Very well.”

After making his way to the stables Athos couldn’t find any sign of the stable master. A few questions to the boys working there revealed he was out, but was expected back any minute. So Athos decided to wait and went to see his horse while doing so. She looked in fine fettle and nickered at spotting him approach. There were no wounds on her body, her limbs were clean, and all four feet were shod and in perfect condition. What on earth could the stable master want to speak about? She was a fine animal, perhaps somebody sought to buy her. But Athos was not of a mind to sell.

Athos made his way back outside and gave an exasperated sigh. He was wasting time. He could be sitting with Aramis, working to fix things. After waiting a few minutes more Athos was about to leave when he spotted the stable master riding towards him.

“Captain Athos, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

“You asked to see me?” Athos replied a little brusquely. He didn’t have time for pleasantries.

The stable master’s brow furrowed. “I can’t recall making that request.”

“Earlier a boy came to find me with a message saying you needed to speak with me.”

“He must have been mistaken. I haven’t asked to see you, and I haven’t sent any boys out with messages for that matter.”

“You’re sure?”

“I might be getting on in years, but my memory isn’t that bad yet. I’m telling you Captain - I haven’t sent you any messages.”

“Very well…” Athos let out a huff of air and made his way back to the kitchen. That was a strange state of affairs. Why would a boy make up a message like that?

But he had little time to fathom the mysteries of errand boys when there was the mystery of Aramis to solve. After picking up a few bits of food for his friend, Athos made his way to the prison.

The usual guard was there, but instead of begrudgingly letting him pass he blocked Athos’ way.

“Can’t let you through.”

“Why not? You know I’ve got authority from the Minister for War.”

“You _had_ authority from the Minister for War.”

“What do you mean? You’ve seen it.”

“I’ll need to see it again.” The guard crossed his arms and settled his stance.

“Stop wasting my time and let me through.”

“Show me the orders and I’ll let you through.”

“Where is the Captain?” Athos was rapidly losing patience with this man and his games.

“Not here.”

“Was it him who told you to stop me passing? You realise the Minister outranks him?”

“Then show me the Minister’s orders.”

They were back in his room. It would mean _another_ delay. But he wasn’t saving any time arguing with this fool. Athos was going to have words with Lecocq when they next met.

Athos growled and stalked back to his room to retrieve Treville’s orders. He slammed them down on the desk before the guard when he returned.

“Now let me through.”

The guard made a show of examining the piece of parchment.

“How do I know this isn’t a forgery?”

“The seal, man! The seal!”

“It might have been stolen from-”

“Let me through, dammit!”

The guard drew back and passed a cold eye over Athos before slowly taking out his keys and unlocking the door leading down to the cells.

“You know your way.”

“Thank you.” Athos snapped, curtly.

On making his way down to the cells Athos tried to take a few deep breaths and calm his temper. The morning’s antics hadn’t put him in the best mood to face Aramis, but he had vowed to help his friend. He wouldn’t let this get in the way.

However there were two more guards in the way when Athos reached the cells.

“Let me guess - you can’t let me through?”

“That’s right.”

Athos tried to catch a glimpse between them. He could see another guard posted at Aramis’ cell.

“What is the meaning of this? Why are you blocking my access to the prisoner?”

“Orders.”

“Oh, orders? Well, I happen to have orders too. These come from the Minister for War, and they override whatever orders you might ha-”

An agonised scream stopped Athos in his tracks. It came from Aramis’ cell.

He dropped the books and food and launched himself at the two guards, desperately trying to push his way through. “Get out of the way!”

They easily caught his arms and held him back.

“Get off me NOW!”

Athos writhed about in their grasp, he managed to get an arm free to launch a blow. It connected with a satisfying crunch against the guard’s nose. They doubled their efforts to restrain him, but another scream from the cell had Athos fighting harder still.

An eternity seemed to pass before the cell door creaked open and Lecocq stepped out, nonchalantly wiping his bloodied hands on a handkerchief.

“Let him through.”

The guards backed off and Athos pushed them aside as he stalked over to Lecocq. He eyed the man’s red stained hands with a growl. “What have you done?”

“What I must.”

And then it dawned on Athos… this was Lecocq. It was all down to Lecocq.

“The boy… the delays… it was you.”

“It was. Why should I deny it? I just needed you out of the way long enough to make a start. I knew it would be so much easier without you kicking up a fuss... and now here we are.”

“You don’t touch him again.” Athos near enough hissed.

“Oh, I will, he’s _my_ prisoner.”

“But Treville-”

“Isn’t here.” Lecocq interrupted. “Write as many letters as you like to him, he’s not coming back, and I have authority here.”

“But… this isn’t the way.” Athos’ eyes darted to the cell door. He was desperate to see Aramis, but part of him didn’t want to know what they had done.

“And what has your soft handed approach got us, hm? Nothing.”

“I was getting through to him. If you had just given me time!”

“You’ve got nothing, Athos. You were never going to get anything out of him. But look, a few hours with me and he’s already speaking French!”

Lecocq opened the door a sliver and spoke through the gap. “You two, out.”

A couple of burly guards stepped through. When Lecocq motioned to Athos, they grabbed his arms.

“Get off me.” Athos growled.

“Show him.” Lecocq opened the door and the guards forced Athos to the threshold.

Aramis was shaking, bent over, on his knees. His left arm was drawn protectively to his chest and without a shirt the damage was plain to see. Bruises and cuts littered his frame. Bile rose at the back of Athos’ throat as he noticed burns amongst them.

Aramis shuddered as he took in a breath to speak. A string of blood mixed with spittle hung from his lips as the words slipped out. “I want… Romero.”

“Let me go to him, please.” There was nothing but a hollow heartfelt plea in Athos’ voice.

At hearing Athos speak, Aramis dragged his eyes to the door. “Not him… no, no, not him…”

He shifted as if he wanted to retreat to the wall but it was too painful to move. 

“Sounds like he doesn’t want you.” Lecocq’s smug voice stoked the ire in Athos’ heart.

Aramis closed his eyes tight and rocked slightly. “Not him... I want Romero.”

Athos turned to look Lecocq in the face. He felt the guard’s hold on him tighten. But he didn’t look to Lecocq with wroth. He put everything he had into one word. All the love he held for his brother, all the emotion he never let grace his features. All the guilt, regret, sadness... but above all else, love.

“ _Please_.”

But how could this man understand the bonds of brotherhood?

“You can stay with him.”

He wielded authority like a cudgel.

“Just on this side of the door.”

He didn’t know love.

“Leave him in darkness.”

Athos felt his heart hollow. The torches were removed and the door locked. “Don’t do this to him!”

“He did this to himself when he chose to hold a flame to a fuse and blow up half the castle.” Lecocq bit back. “Come on, leave them.”

The guards let go and Athos fell to his knees. He scrambled to the door and pressed himself against it. “Aramis? Can you hear me? I’m here with you.”

Lecocq and his men had gone. There was a moment of quiet.

“Aramis? I’m here.”

And then an anguished scream tore from the cell. It was not a sound of horror, nor pain, but perhaps too much of both made it what it was. A breaking. A man losing his grip as he held on to the edge of a precipice, falling to the abyss below.

“ _I’m here_ …”

But words were useless.

**~oOo~**

Come nightfall Athos was turfed out, but he returned first thing the next morning, hoping to reach the prison before Lecocq. To his surprise the guard let him through, though the cell remained shut to him. No doubt Lecocq was enjoying this. Athos was kept in a sort of purgatory. He was close enough to hear Aramis suffering but not close enough to do something about it.

Once again Athos leaned against the door, cursing the occasional whimpers and moans that came through it.

“I’m here Aramis, you’re not alone.” Athos paused, hoping for an answer to breach the silence. “Porthos is coming. He won’t be much longer now.”

Athos heard nothing but shuddered sobs.

“I’m not leaving you.”

It wasn’t long before the small sounds of pain were joined by strident footsteps echoing down the corridor.

“Ah, Athos, you’ve come to hear my little bird sing have you?”

Athos got to his feet and blocked Lecocq’s path. “Don’t touch him.”

“Try to stop me and I’ll have you put in a cell beside him.”

“For pity’s sake, let him recover a while!”

Lecocq gave a mocking sigh. “You’re clearly not acquainted with these methods. You have to keep the pressure on, my friend. I’ll get the answers we’ve both been seeking.”

Once again the guards moved in to restrain Athos while another two went into the cell. He heard Aramis’ faint voice through the gap before the door closed… _no, no, please, no_...

“Don’t do this.” He pulled against the men holding his arms. They only gripped tighter.

This time Lecocq remained outside. He stood with his arms crossed, just watching Athos.

A cry came from within the cell. Athos growled but Lecocq didn’t so much as flinch.

When Aramis’ next howl breached the air Lecocq stepped a little closer to Athos. “Does it hurt you to hear that sound?”

Athos simply glared.

“Does it hurt you to know that he is hurting?”

He wouldn’t give Lecocq the satisfaction of an answer.

“I didn’t get to hear anything, you see. I didn’t feel their pain. I don’t even know if they felt pain. When you’re blown to pieces do you feel it before you die?”

A long scream, and then… _PLEASE STOP!_

“I hear retribution in that sound. It is righteous.”

“It is _wrong._ ” Athos finally answered.

“But then you would say that. You didn’t serve beside the men your _friend_ killed.” Lecocq spat the word derisively. “You didn’t train with them, you didn’t drink with them, you didn’t know them.”

Lecocq moved in closer still. They stood eye to eye and suddenly Athos saw something beneath the cruelty embedded there.

“You didn’t have to face their wives and children. You didn’t have to watch as some went mute with shock, while others wept and wailed as if their whole world had been shattered. You didn’t see the lost look in one boy’s eyes…”

Aramis cried out and Athos’ heart wrenched.

Lecocq pointed a savage finger at the door and spat in Athos’ face. “ _That_ is justice being served.”

“It is revenge.” Athos answered quietly.

He hadn’t realised… he did not see Lecocq was suffering. The man hid it as well as Athos did himself. He just saw Lecocq as a brute. Perhaps in wake of the pain he had become one, lashing out at the one to blame. For a moment he had forgotten - There was no black and white in life, no good men and bad men. The virtuous were still capable of evil deeds, and the unscrupulous could still hold affection. Even the Cardinal had loved his cats.

The world had never been simple.

But _this._

Lecocq was hurting Aramis, and Athos couldn’t see past that.

“And tell me you would do any different. If I had set off an explosion back at your garrison in Paris. If it were _your_ friends blown to pieces, if it were _Aramis_ lying dead… tell me you wouldn’t see me suffer.”

“I would let the courts do their work.”

“You lie.” Lecocq sneered. “I have heard tell of the closeness of your regiment. You would strangle the life out of me with your own two hands.”

And perhaps there were more shades of truth in that.

The Captain walked away a few strides before turning back. “To have the Spanish murder my men was bad enough. But then to find out it was done by the hand of a traitor... one of our own, a former musketeer no less!” His hands turned to fists and his voice dropped low. “I will see him pay for their lives dearly.”

“You might be wrong.” Athos tried to keep his voice level.

“I am not wrong. You know I am not wrong.”

Lecocq opened the cell door and bid his guards come out. Athos noted the blood spatter on their clothes and swallowed hard.

“Go to him.”

The men holding Athos’ arms let go. He looked to Lecocq with confusion.

“You wanted to go to him. Go.” The Captain waved an arm at the door. “You’ll just have to be locked in the darkness with him, but it won’t be for long. Perhaps the monster will show his face. Perhaps you’ll see behind the mask of friendship.”

Athos didn’t need telling twice. He rushed into the cell but came to an abrupt halt on seeing Aramis. He was lying on his side, a pitiful sight, bruised and bloodied, with an arm drawn to his chest. Worst of all was the glazed look in his eyes. Aramis stared at the wall straight ahead, there was not so much as a flicker to acknowledge Athos’ presence.

“Aramis?” Athos stepped forwards and crouched down. Just as he reached a hand out the torch was removed and the door locked.

Athos cursed. He couldn’t hope to help Aramis if he couldn’t see anything. Those wounds needed tending, but he had nothing, and he could see nothing. Athos moved forwards, there was a shuffle, a clink of chains and a moan. It sounded as if Aramis had tried to back away.

“Please, let me help.”

Even if there was nothing to be done he had to try. Perhaps just a friendly touch would be enough.

“Not… you.” The words were heavy, dredged deep from Aramis’ throat.

“I just want to help.”

“No… helping. Not for me. Never… never. Not from you.” A wet cough followed the words.

“Do you know who I am?”

“The Comte de la Fere.” There was a slight sneer to his voice.

“Not for a long time.”

“Always.” The word was hard. Thrown like a punch. Though Aramis had little to put behind it.

“I left that life behind.”

“It follows you like a shadow. You can’t escape it. It’s in your blood… your voice, your very step.” Aramis paused to cough. He shifted with a slight moan. “No more hiding. I see you.”

“Believe what you want. I’m here to help.” Athos went to reach out again but he stopped himself. He couldn’t see, and he didn’t want to risk startling Aramis.

The darkness was complete. Instinctively Athos widened his eyes, but it didn’t help. There was no light to be had. With every passing moment the dark seemed to press in a little more, he felt as if he were breathing it in.

“No helping.” Aramis said again a little more firmly. “You’ve come to bury me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know... I’ve heard it already, the scrape, scrape, scrape… it’s at the back of my mind, and at the front of yours. Don’t think that I don’t see.”

“Aramis, I’m here to _help_.”

“To clean up a mess. I’m your mess. A rung on the ladder passed over and discarded. Bury me, forget me.”

“You’re not my mess, you’re my _friend_.” Athos rubbed his eyes, the darkness was becoming too much. Sparks lit up within his vision, momentarily disrupting the endless black.

“Not a friend. Just a dog. We’re all dogs to you. Loyal, useful, dispensable.”

“Will you let me come closer?”

“No.”

“Will-”

“Listen.” Aramis interrupted.

Athos fell quiet. Silence stretched between them and became a burden, almost as bad as the surrounding darkness.

“I don’t hear anything.”

“You will become what you deserve.” Aramis spoke those words in a disturbing sort of singsong voice. “She’s here. The last one.”

“It’s just you and me, Aramis.”

“I don’t think… though I can’t be sure, I don’t think they were screaming. Isabelle didn’t. She was so quiet.” Aramis voice tailed off, and then his next question shot through the dark. “Has your locket rusted yet?”

He had thrown it away. It was gone, she was gone…

Aramis didn’t wait for an answer. “It will rust shut, and you won’t be able to open it. You’ll never be able to see her, but you’ll never be able to forget her.”

Forget her… Forget her… _Forget me nots_. Blue flowers. A bright field with blue flowers… and choking… dangling… He turned away.

Athos rubbed at his eyes again, trying to shift the images with a burst of sparks. He didn’t want to remember that. Not here, not now.

“They’re always here in the darkness. Waiting. All of them. Mine and yours.” Chains clinked, Aramis whined. “The others… they screamed… it’s always here. Always. I’ll never be rid of it.”

Athos’ breath caught in his throat.

“Strange how I can see so much white in all this black. The ravens melt into it though. They hide, just like you.”

He longed to reach out...

“It’s _always_ here, Athos. There is no rest… no peace…”

He couldn’t help himself. Athos moved forwards and his outstretched fingers brushed cool skin.

“Don’t touch me!” Aramis recoiled and Athos’ arm shot back. “Not you!”

“Please, Aramis…” He was at a loss, useless as ever.

“Where is Romero? I want Romero. He wouldn’t leave. He’s not like Marsac, not like you.”

“I don’t know where he is. Tell me who he is and I might be able to find him.” Something in Athos felt almost dirty at using Aramis’ distressed, addled, state of mind to find answers.

“He is my friend.”

“Who is he?”

“He is my friend.”

“That won’t help me find him.”

“I don’t want you to find him. You’ll bury him with me.”

Every mention of _friend_ was like a stab to Athos’ heart. He tried to take a step back and look at this from a distance. While Athos was seeking answers it was good that Aramis remained tight lipped. Lecocq was looking for the same thing and once he got his answers it was all over.

Still, Athos needed to ask one thing, and part of him didn’t want Aramis to answer.

“Aramis… did you do it?”

“Yes.”

That word, that simple, short word…

Something in Athos crumbled.

“Listen to me. You can never tell them that. No matter what they do to you, never tell them. Do you understand?”

“I’m tired, Athos.”

“This is important - Do you understand?”

“Can I rest now?”

There came the sound of a key scraping into a lock.

“Aramis. Answer me.”

“Nothing... There’s nothing. I’m nothing, they’ll get nothing.”

That would have to be good enough. The door opened and Athos shied away from the intrusive shaft of light.

“The Captain wants you out.”

Athos pushed to his feet and shot a last look back at Aramis. It pained him he could do nothing practical to help. But if he had at least ensured his friend’s silence it was something. Still, taking in Aramis’ battered body and fractured state of mind it seemed only a matter of time…

“I’ll come back as soon as I can. Remember what I said.”

“Nothing… nothing…” Aramis mumbled as the door closed.

**~oOo~**

It was a silent, snow covered scene that he walked into. Peaceful. Quiet. A beautiful massacre. The blood wasn’t red any more, but it still stood in contrast to the blinding white. All was still, apart from the ravens that crept tentatively at a distance, unsure of the newcomers that breathed mist. Unlike the ones on the ground. The ones they waited patiently for.

Athos walked through the fallen. Checking eyeless faces. Listing off names in his head as he went.

And there he was, leaning against a tree. Head hanging down, face painted with blood. No mist. There was no mist. But a raven stood before him, it looked up and considered those closed eyes. Athos dashed forwards to chase it off. It took flight with an angry call.

“Aramis! Aramis, open your eyes!”

His skin was cold, and far too pale.

There was no mist.

“ _Please_. You have to open your eyes.”

Aramis’ head lolled between Athos’ hands.

“You’re not dead. You were never dead. Not here, not like this!”

He shook the lifeless body in front of him. Gently at first, but then harder and harder…

“Wake up! You’re _not_ dead! WAKE UP!”

He had to wake up.

He wasn’t shaking, he was being shaken.

Wake up.

 _Wake up_.

Now.

He lurched up with a last cry. “You’re not dead!”

“No, I’m very much alive.” It was dim in his room, but that voice was unmistakable.

“Porthos!”

And then he was engulfed in a warm embrace. It seemed an eternity before they parted.

“Are you all right? Sounded like you were having quite the nightmare.”

“Yes, yes… It has passed. Oh, I am so very glad to see you my friend.”

“And I you.” That warm smile, how he had missed it.

“I have such a lot to tell you.”

Porthos would not be smiling for long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...but above all else, love."
> 
> I would like to pick your brains on that line.
> 
> Now Athos says at the very end of season 3 "And love. Above all else." But this chapter was written long before that ep. When I heard it I was all - He stole my line! :P Still, when I wrote it it felt somewhat familar. My Google-fu failed and I could find no reference. I had a feeling Athos might have said it earlier in the series. Can anyone remember if he did? Or if that line is from anywhere else? Or is it pure (and strange) coincidence that Athos says pretty much something I wrote Athos saying?
> 
> It's just one of those things that's annoying me now. It feels so so familiar and I cannot place it!


	12. Chapter 12

“What you see in there will hurt. It will drive you to anger. I would not blame you if you turned around and drew your sword on every man out here. But when you go in, you have to remain calm.”

Lecocq had begrudgingly agreed to let Porthos see Aramis. It seemed he was getting frustrated and was willing to try anything to get answers. So Athos and Porthos stood outside the cell with a contingent of guards and Lecocq looking on with his arms crossed. 

The door was opened, torches placed inside, and then Porthos stepped in. Athos hung at the threshold, just out of sight, listening. 

“Aramis?”

There was the sound of clinking chains, a soft whimper, and then a harsh growl from Porthos.

“No… no…”

“You need help. Let me have a look.”

“Not you.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Porthos?” Aramis sounded slightly unsure.

“Yes, it’s me. Just me. You know I won’t hurt you.”

“But you’re his. Stay back.”

Metallic clinks.

A choked off gasp.

“I don’t belong to anybody but myself. If you know anything about me, you know that.” There was a sadness to Porthos’ voice that shouldn’t have been there.

“You’re the Comte’s pawn, just like I was. No more… no more...”

“It doesn’t matter, Aramis. Whatever you think, it doesn’t matter. I can see you’re hurting, just let me help with that.”

“It matters.”

“Not to me. Do you think I care where people come from? Or what they were? Athos isn’t a Comte any more. He’s a good man. And I’m not his pawn, I’m his friend.”

“He’d like you to think that. He’s not your friend.”

“No, he’s not, he’s more than that. He’s a brother.” 

Athos leaned his head against the stone wall and tried to keep his stoic composure. Aramis wasn’t in his right mind, he wouldn’t be saying any of this if he was. Maybe Porthos would be able to break through the madness.

A brief bark of harsh laughter came through the open door. “Oh how blind you are.”

“I can see perfectly well. What happened to you? What has twisted your mind so?”

“He would have left you to die! Did you know that? When you were struck, bleeding, he refused to take you to safety. I had to raise my hands to him. Shake him. His own past mattered more than your life... Don’t you care about Porthos… I had to shout at him - Don’t you care about Porthos?! No. He didn’t. He doesn’t.”

Athos couldn’t help but bite his lip at those brutal words coming from Aramis. True, he was haunted by his past back then, but he never meant to put Porthos in danger.

“He cares. Deep down you know he does.”

“Stop lying to yourself. Stop taking his lies and wolfing them down. Your blood was on my hands and he didn’t care… There’s so much blood on my hands, Porthos. So much.”

“There doesn’t have to be. Let me help.”

A pause.

A series of shuddered breaths.

And then a quiet voice.

“There is one thing you can do… Will you hear my confession?”  
  
“I’m no priest.”

Suddenly a spike of fear assailed Athos’ heart. Lecocq straightened and seemed to lean forwards with interest.

“It’s been so dark… there’s no air, just like confession. I need to confess.”

At that Athos pushed to his feet and made for the door. “Por-”

He didn’t get far as Lecocq motioned to his guards. They pushed him back against the wall and covered his mouth.

“You don’t have to.”

“Confession is the path to absolution. It is the only way to clean my hands.”

“Let me clean them for you. I can help.”

Athos growled and tried to pull away from the guards. They were on dangerous ground now. How could he have let this happen? Athos had warned Aramis against revealing the truth to Lecocq and his men. He thought Porthos would bring Aramis to his senses, he couldn’t have imagined Aramis would freely confess to Porthos. Porthos was supposed to help, not lead to Aramis’ condemnation. This needed to stop.

“They’re all here in the dark with me, the ones I’ve hurt... the ones I’ve killed.”

Lecocq looked like the cat who was about to get the cream. Athos fought to get away, but he was held fast.

“No Aramis, forget them. It’s just you and me here now.”

“They won’t let me forget. Especially not the innocent. There are so many, Porthos… so many.”

“Ssshh, you don’t need to speak of this. Just rest.”

“They won’t let me rest either. Those whose hearts I tore apart, those buried in the snow, those Romero and-”

“Hush, Aramis.” Porthos spoke over him in a strained voice. “Close your eyes, rest, sleep.”

A moment of silence hung over the gathered men. Everybody seemed to hold their breath, waiting to hear what words would come next… 

But there was nothing. 

Athos let out a slight sigh of relief. Maybe Aramis had drifted off, maybe Porthos had headed off his confession.

Suddenly Lecocq snarled and pushed forwards into the cell. The guards let go of Athos and they all followed after. They found Lecocq bearing down upon Aramis, straddling him and leaning an arm into his throat. 

“What were you going to say? Say it!”

Porthos went to separate them, but he was set upon by the guards and pushed back to the wall. 

Aramis’ mouth opened and closed. His throat worked. But only one word came out. 

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie! You said you were going to confess, so confess!” Lecocq pushed a little harder and Aramis’ face screwed up against the pain. 

“You’re killing him!” Porthos bellowed.

“He can’t say anything if you won’t let him breathe!” Athos stepped forwards, but a guard pushed him back.

“It’ll be me or the noose cutting his breath off. Does it really matter which?” 

Aramis weakly struggled beneath Lecocq. The man nearly trembled with rage, staring down at his prey with such vitriol.

“Speak!”

Lecocq suddenly released his hold and stood up. Aramis gasped in breath after breath, he didn’t seem fully aware of events around him.

“No matter.” Lecocq looked down at Aramis between his feet as if he were considering the fate of a wounded animal. “I’ve heard enough - He’s killed, he has blood on his hands. Blood of the innocent. He doesn’t need to confess any more than that.”

Lecocq stepped away, only to turn and push his boot into Aramis’ cheek, forcing his head to one side. Athos ground his teeth at seeing the pained grimace on Aramis’ face.

“Get off him.”

“Shame to see a musketeer sink so low. The regiment was always spoken of so highly.” Lecocq removed his foot, only to spit down at Aramis. “Excuse me gentlemen, I have an execution to arrange. I’ll let you say your goodbyes.”

Athos and Porthos both shouted and railed against Lecocq, but the guards held them back and he was out of the door without another word. 

Athos stopped struggling as a hollow feeling took his heart. The guards let go and retreated to the door. Porthos simply dropped to his knees beside Aramis. He carefully pulled his friend onto his knee and then took out a cloth to gently wipe away the spittle and dirt from Lecocq’s boot. Aramis blinked slowly, his eyes not taking anything in.

“Treville-”

“Will not arrive in time.” Athos cut Porthos off abruptly.

“There has to be something…”

“I don’t know… I don’t know.” Athos ran frustrated hands through his hair. 

What could be done? How could they possibly get Aramis out of this?

“You can’t give up.” Porthos stared up at him with eyes so full of hope.

They were both feeling torn and helpless, but they couldn’t just let this happen.

“I will never give up. I will die myself before seeing him hang.”

Athos went to stand at Porthos’ shoulder and look down at their friend. Aramis’ eyes lazily wandered around before seeming to focus slightly on Porthos.

He sighed out words in a tired voice that broke Athos’ heart. 

“Can we go home now?” 

**~oOo~**

The beginnings of a scaffold were being erected in the castle courtyard. Athos tried not to look at it as he passed by on his way to fetch water. Now Lecocq had his execution well in hand he didn’t seem to care about access to Aramis. As far as he was concerned Aramis would be dead in a matter of days and Athos couldn’t do a thing about it. So Athos and Porthos set about seeing to their friend’s wounds while they considered a plan of action. 

“He needs to see a physician.” Porthos uttered grimly as he looked at Aramis’ arm.

Athos set the water down and retreated to a spot near the cell door. Aramis was being quite docile at the moment, but he had objected to Athos’ presence and wouldn’t be touched by him. It was easier to keep some distance and let Porthos handle things. 

“I doubt they’ll let a physician in to see a condemned man. We’ll have to do what we can and let him see one once he’s free.”

Because he would be free. Athos wouldn’t settle for anything else.

“This might be broken, cracked at least...” The arm was badly bruised. Aramis cradled it to his chest, it had taken a lot of coaxing for him to let Porthos near it.

“Bind it as best you can.” 

Porthos hummed and gently relinquished the damaged limb, Aramis pulled it straight back to his chest. While Athos set about tearing a shirt up Porthos started to wash the blood and dirt from Aramis’ skin. Small tremors ran through him, and he let out a hiss or a whine when Porthos turned his attention to the wounds littering his body.

“Some of these could do with stitches.”

“How bad? I could try to obtain a kit…” But it was unlikely and time was precious. It could not be wasted on finding a sewing kit.

“He’ll live. The bleeding has stopped, it should stay that way if he’s careful, but the flesh is…” Porthos paused to let out a heavy breath. “He’ll be badly scarred.”

“I’ll take scarred and alive. We need to get him out of here.”

“Help me with this arm.” 

Athos approached warily, but Aramis didn’t seem to be entirely with them. He blinked heavily and let Porthos position his arm ready for binding. 

“I suspect our only chance for an escape will be when they move him for the execution.”

“So you’ve given up hope of getting a stay?”

“Lecocq is judge and jury here. The official routes are closed to us. Treville might have been able to help, but he is out of reach.” Athos helped Porthos secure Aramis’ arm to him, hating the slight trembling beneath his hands.

“Surely there is someone who would listen?”

“No, the castle is under Lecocq’s command. Most of the officials were blown to pieces, and any who remain are as eager as he is to see a perpetrator punished.”

“What of Romero?”

Aramis flinched. 

“We know nothing of him. Just his name.”

“He is… my friend.” Aramis whispered faintly.

Athos straightened and strode away to his place at the door at hearing that. 

“Do you know where he is, Aramis?” Porthos put his hands to either side of Aramis’ face and tried to catch his attention. Aramis just blinked and let his eyes drift. “Listen to me. This is important. Where is Romero?”

“Gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Gone.”

“Tell me where, Aramis. Please.”

Aramis frowned slightly. “It’s gone.”

Porthos let out a sigh and settled Aramis so he lay down resting his head against his knee. “Do we know where they came from? They didn’t just appear in the castle out of the ether.” 

“All I know is what I’ve already told you. He was taken on by the armourer, but the man in question is dead. Apparently by Aramis’ hand.”

“Oh Aramis… why won’t you talk to us?” Porthos absent mindedly ran his hand through Aramis’ hair. 

“I’m not sure it would help. Whoever this Romero is he’s probably long gone.”

“Still, it might go some way to clearing his name.”

“He did it, Porthos.” Athos spoke morosely and leaned against the wall. “He told me he did it.”

“You can’t be sure, he’s not in his right mind. That much is clear.”

“Whatever the truth of the matter, Romero is out of reach. So what do we do? Ready some horses and attempt an escape? We’ll be pursued even if we manage it.” Athos ran a tired hand over his face and sighed.

“We rescued Constance didn’t we?”

“That was different.”

“No, we can do it. We just need to obtain some powder. A small explosion… a great distraction… Then we throw Aramis onto a horse and ride away.”

“You make it sound so easy.” Athos managed a half smile.

“Of course it’ll be easy. It’s us isn’t it?” Porthos grinned.

**~oOo~**

It took a few days to get everything in place. Luckily it also took a few days for Lecocq to get the scaffold built and make arrangements. Still, the morning of the execution came too quickly.

Aramis was to be hung at noon. That gave them a few hours to make their last checks and go to see their friend. Athos stood leaning against the courtyard wall, he watched the executioner make his last few checks. A hefty pull on the thick rope ensured it would take the weight of a man - of Aramis - Athos thought as a sick feeling settled in his stomach. He stood at a distance in the shadows, but it was an unnatural cold that made him shiver. 

Porthos came striding across the yard and took his place beside Athos. “Everything fine?”

“Yes, and you?”

“Ready and waiting.”

Athos had checked the concealed powder was in place. He had left Porthos to acquire it and place it, since he would be more recognisable and possibly watched. But it would be his duty to light the fuse. The powder was hidden in nondescript containers and buried amongst some other harmless supplies. Porthos had marked them so Athos would know them at sight, and he was relieved to see them where they should be. He just hoped that no innocents would be harmed in the ensuing blast. The powder was placed to take account of where the crowd would be, and of a level to distract and cause chaos rather than kill. But nothing was certain. If a wayward child wandered next to the powder as it went off…

Athos swallowed hard. 

This was for Aramis. It was the only way.

While Athos was busy with the powder, Porthos would be retrieving their horses. If all went to plan they would be at the gate as Athos freed Aramis in the ensuing chaos. Together they would ride away, and after that…

“Have you given much thought to where we might go?” Porthos seemed to read his thoughts.

“Joining Treville would probably be the best course of action.”

“Are you sure official channels are wise?”

They would be kidnapping a condemned man and delivering him to a Minister after all. Treville might be a worthy diplomat but justice wasn’t always just. A worst case scenario might see them punished and Aramis returned to Foix.

“No, but what is the alternative? Going into hiding? Treville will sort this mess out, and then I must return to my duties. There is a war on, in case you had forgotten.”

“Of course not.”

For a moment Athos felt bad at reacting harshly. The strain was getting to him. 

Porthos broke the awkward silence with his quiet voice. “You mean to return then?”

“I have to. I have no other choice. I’ve already been away too long.”

“He will need you... After this, he’s going to need you there.”

A lump formed in Athos’ throat. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

“Of course he will. Don’t pay any attention to what he says. We’ll undo whatever’s been done to him, and he’ll need you. Whether or not he knows it, he will.”

Athos looked down with a tight smile. He wished he could believe Porthos. He wished he knew it would be so easy to put Aramis right again. And he wished he would be granted the time to do so. But the war would not stop for one man. It was unlikely he would play any part in Aramis’ recovery. All he could do was act now.

He looked up again at feeling Porthos’ comforting hand on his shoulder. If he couldn’t be there for Aramis, Porthos surely would. Then Athos’ looked past Porthos, his attention was soon taken by the gathering crowd. People had been coming in by dribs and drabs, they wanted a good spot to watch a man die. 

“Come. It’s time to go to him.”

Athos and Porthos made their way to the prison. Ostensibly to say their goodbyes, but in reality they would do their best to give Aramis hope, to let him know he wasn’t alone and that this was not the end.

Athos’ footsteps felt heavy on the stairs. Going down into the prison suddenly felt as if he were descending into a crypt. The guards at the bottom unlocked the gate that lead through to the cells. They stood as if sentinels to the underworld.

The two of them stepped through and advanced towards Aramis’ cell. But there was no guard beside it. Athos looked back to the two behind him.

“Aren’t you going to unlock the door?”

“It’s open, you can go in.”

They frowned and exchanged glances. Then Porthos rushed forwards to push the heavy door open.

The cell was empty. 

Athos looked around the room frantically. There were loose shackles and dark stains across the floor, but no Aramis.

He stalked out of the room and approached the guards. “Where is he?”

No answer was forthcoming. Athos reached out and shook the gate. “Where is he?! Damn you!”

At that moment Lecocq sauntered lazily down the stairs and settled a smug eye on Athos. “I had him moved.”

“I want to see him!”

“You can’t. You’re going to stop here, just in case you were thinking of trying anything.”

At that Porthos pushed forwards with a roar to rattle the bars. “NO!”

“You let us see him right now!”

“You’ve had plenty of time to say goodbye. Time that I didn’t have with my men. Now I’m going to see justice done for them. You will be released afterwards.”

With that pronouncement Lecocq turned and made his way back to the stairs. 

“Lecocq, you come back here right now!” Porthos bellowed.

“I will never forgive you this!”

He just put one foot on the first stair and looked over his shoulder. “I don’t want your forgiveness.”

He left and the two guards took up their positions beside the gate.

Porthos’ voice lowered to a dangerous level. “You open this gate now. If you leave it too late I will tear you apart when you let us out.”

Silence.

“Open it!” He lunged through the bars but the guard just stepped back.

Athos turned away, hands to his head in despair. 

They had failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still puzzling over that line. The closest suggestion has been Moulin Rouge:
> 
> "I had come to write about truth, beauty, freedom, and that which I believed in above all things: love."
> 
> I'm more acquainted with Moulin Rouge than the bible (another popular suggestion) but that ain't saying much! Starting to think it is just bizarre coincidence.


	13. Chapter 13

**Part Three**

_Chess is all about getting the king into check, you see._  
_It's about killing the father._  
_I would say that chess has more to do with the art of murder than it does with the art of war._

They came for him early that morning. The shackles were loosed from his limbs, but there was no relief. Rope took its place, and his arms were wrenched into place for them to tie it. Burning pain shot up his arm, but Aramis scarcely had the strength to voice it. In any case, pain had become a near constant thing, ebbing and rising, but never leaving. It was an old friend by now.

Aramis was led out of his cell, flanked by guards. One pulled mercilessly at the rope, heedless of his stumbling steps, drawing him onwards, though his legs threatened to give in. Another pressed in with fetid breath and hissed:

“You’re going to die.”

Aramis flinched away and they laughed. But it was the intrusion he recoiled at more than the words. Death was coming. It was what he deserved.

He was taken to another room and pushed down to the floor. Lecocq sat before him. The captain lounged with crossed legs while he chewed at a piece of meat.

“I suppose you think you’re getting a last meal?” He tore a few more strips from the bone and then threw it at Aramis. “That’s all you’ll get from me.”

Aramis didn’t touch it. Though he stared at it absently.

“Look at me.”

Nothing.

“Look at me, Aramis.”

Nothing.

A small gesture to the guard and Aramis’ head was yanked back by a fistful of hair.

“You’re going to die alone. You’ll die, just like my men when you blew them to pieces. But you will die alone, and there will be nobody to mourn over your worthless carcass.” Lecocq got to his feet and came to tower over Aramis. “This is your last chance to give up your friend. You may not have to die today, not if you reveal who you worked with.”

“But… I will die.” Came Aramis’ broken voice.

“Maybe not, if those you worked with played the greater part. Perhaps you would be imprisoned instead. But if you give me no names then you accept their responsibility. You give your life when perhaps it should be others paying that price.”

“I will die.”

“Give them up and you may yet live.”

“Today, tomorrow, a year, ten years… I will die. We all die.” Aramis shuddered in a breath. “I’ve been here longer than I should. Let it end.”

Lecocq stepped back and watched Aramis as if he were trying to work out a puzzle.

“I see. You think your life so worthless you will cast it away for them? For this Romero? What makes his life worth any more than yours?”

“He is my friend.”

“So you have said before. I believe Athos and Porthos were once your friends, and you would not be so eager to throw your life away for them now. Why is Romero different?”

“He understands. He sees the truth. He...”

“He is a murderer. Just like you.” Lecocq’s face seemed to darken. “Those were good men you killed. Men with families, men with so much to live for. Why did you do it?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Aramis reached his trembling, bound hands forwards in supplication. They were batted away by the guard.

“Why did you turn against your own?!” Lecocq yelled, spittle flecking the air.

“I’m filthy, covered in blood and sin… I’m sorry. So sorry…”

The blow was hard. Aramis hit the ground and choked on the taste of blood in his mouth.

The guard dragged him back up. “I didn’t want-”

Again Lecocq struck him, but this time he was left lying on the floor. A rough booted foot pushed Aramis over onto his back.

Lecocq hissed down at him. “You will die today. And when you do, know this: There will be no last rites for you. Once the life has been strangled from your wretched body you will be cut down and thrown in a ditch. No prayers, no blessings, no grave with your name. Your name will be spat upon, and then it will be forgotten.”

Lecocq stood over Aramis, his breath heaving in and out. Aramis just stared up at him through hazy eyes. And then Lecocq broke away, he returned to his table and sat down quietly to finish his meal.

The guard heaved Aramis upright again and they watched Lecocq in silence. He finished his meal and turned his attention to some documents. There was no sound save for the rustling of parchment.

Aramis tentatively brought his hands up to wipe the blood away from his lips. Though it was quiet, the air was charged with tension. This was the moment that seemed unbearable. What was to come… well, it would be over with a short, sharp drop. This lingering on his knees, wallowing in pain and guilt, waiting… He could almost feel the ghosts at his shoulders. It wasn’t the cruel grip of the guards holding him in place. He was pinned by the hands of the dead.

The dead were waiting to drag him down. The ones he had wronged. They would bury him and he would become what he deserved. The shadowed corners seemed to hold an accusing gaze. Aramis bowed his head and closed his eyes, but there was no escape. They moved closer and pressed in. Cold breath on the back of his neck made him shudder. Whispers… _you’re going to die_ … With dirt in his eyes, and throat clogged with earth. No breath to scream. No breath. No...

“Take him up, I will be with you shortly.”

The moment shattered. Everything fell away as Aramis was roughly pulled to his feet.

He was dragged along the passageways of the castle, past sneering faces and muttered curses. They reached a door and he was held in place.

“Wait here.”

The noise of a crowd filtered through the door. A lone voice rose above the others, but the muffled words could not be made out.

Aramis stared down at the floor with his head bowed. He tried to steel himself for these last few moments on earth, for he deserved death, some part of him welcomed it, but no man could truly face his end without fear in his heart. Death was a strange concept. Inevitable as it was, for the young it hardly seemed real. As a soldier Aramis had felt death brush far too close, but it had never claimed him. Cheating death was part of the rush.

It had finally caught up with him now. It waited just beyond that door. This was real. This was happening.

This was inescapable.

Suddenly Lecocq was there. He gripped Aramis’ chin and forced his head up. “Don’t think that I am at all interested in you. For all the time I have spent on you, do not mistake it for interest. I do not care who you are or where you came from. All I care for is justice, and with your death I have it. We will rebuild while you are forgotten. So when you stand with that noose around your neck just think on the fact you failed. All of this was for nothing.”

But there was still hope. Romero lived. At that thought a half smile pulled at Aramis’ lips.

Lecocq narrowed his eyes. “Why are you smiling?”

“This isn’t the end.”

“It is for you.”

Lecocq stepped aside and pushed open the door. Aramis was propelled outside and he flinched away as it hit him all at once. The sudden bright light of day, the cacophony of the crowd, and then the vegetables and rocks. These people were angry, stirred into a frenzy by the man speaking at the scaffold.

His bellowing voice echoed around the courtyard. “And here he is! The traitor!”

Another stream of missiles came Aramis’ way. He tried to shield his face with his hands as a well aimed stone struck his head. His body took the rest of the pelting. When the volley subsided Aramis’ hands fell away, he squinted and tried to make out the scaffold up ahead.

“Get moving.” There was a shove in Aramis’ back and he stumbled forwards.

A path lined with guards had been made through the crowd. They pressed in and were pushed back, all the time roaring and jeering. Aramis searched their faces, twisted with sneers and anger. Some part of him kept looking for Athos and Porthos, but they were nowhere to be seen. Of course they would be missing. They didn’t care for him, they never had. Why would they be here when he needed them the most? He was suddenly struck with their absence. He needed them. He needed the Athos and Porthos he had back in Paris. But they were a fiction, a lie. This was the truth, the cold, hard, reality… He was alone.

The scaffold loomed large before him. The noose swung lazily in the breeze. Aramis’ throat closed up and his legs threatened to give way, but the guard’s grip tightened, preventing him from crashing to the ground. He felt more hands, cold hands, against his skin. They were coming to claim him.

Aramis was dragged onward, though his feet scrabbled against the ground, trying to resist. Every animal lost its mind on the verge of death. Men were no different. They all succumbed to that desperate instinct to fight and live. A hard punch to the stomach had Aramis doubled over wheezing for breath. The guards used the opportunity to push him on towards the stairs. Aramis heaved himself upright and looked at them, he didn’t want to go up, he didn’t want to… Out of the corner of his eye a cloaked figure gave Aramis a strange smile and turned away. It looked like Romero. A spark of hope lit up Aramis’ heart. Of course Romero wouldn’t abandon him! Of course Romero had a plan. There would be a rescue, he wasn’t alone!

Aramis took the stairs slowly and stood at the front of the scaffold where the guards placed him. They turned to make preparations, and he was granted a moment to survey the baying crowd. He looked for any sign of Romero, a horse, a rescue...

And then hope died suddenly as Aramis found Marguerite staring up at him from the front of the crowd. Romero was surely as real as she was. There would be no rescue. Her eyes were tainted with sorrow.

_Aramis, please!_

She thought the fault was hers.

But it was his. 

Only his.

The fight suddenly went out of Aramis as the crushing weight of his guilt returned. He deserved this. For all of the people he had ruined and wronged. He looked out over the crowd and felt their seething anger. They were right to hate him. He was an abomination.

The guards pulled Aramis backwards to place the rope around his neck. It tightened. His eyes welled up. The crowd roared with delight. Aramis came to realise that he wasn’t going to die alone. Far from it. He was going to die a spectacle.

The last sensation he would take from this world would be the sound of cheering voices.

“Any last words?” Lecocq’s voice came from somewhere behind.

Aramis opened his mouth, but Lecocq moved forwards to pull the rope tight around his neck.

“No? How unfortunate.” The captain pressed in uncomfortably close and hissed in Aramis’ ear. “You don’t get last words. There will be nothing left to remember you by.”

Lecocq stepped away and went to strut up and down the front of the scaffold. “This man before you is a traitor! He has betrayed every one of you in the most despicable way possible! He has blood on his hands, the blood of your people! Your husbands, fathers and sons!”

A hush fell on the crowd as they listened to his words.

Lecocq came to settle himself in front of Aramis. He stared for a long moment before speaking with a quiet voice. “René d'Herblay… Do you think I should give them your name? Give them something to hate? So that every d’Herblay across the land is cursed to their last breath? Or is it better to let you die in obscurity?”

As Lecocq turned back to the crowd he dramatically threw out a hand to point at Aramis. “This man-

“Stop!” A lone voice called out from the throng of people below. “Stop this at once!”

Lecocq tried to continue. “This man-”

“Is the wrong one!”

The voice was closer now. With the rope around his neck restraining him Aramis couldn’t move to see who it was, but it sounded familiar.

“My friend, he is guilty.” Lecocq crouched down at the edge of the scaffold to speak to the newcomer.

“No, you are about to hang the wrong man!”

A muttering set up amongst the people. Lecocq’s eyes roamed over them warily.

The man continued. “Bring him down from there. Let us speak privately and I will explain everything.”

Lecocq looked at Aramis over his shoulder and considered those words. Everybody was talking amongst themselves about this strange turn of events. To hang Aramis now, after he had been declared innocent, would not look good.

“Take him down.” Lecocq begrudgingly ordered.

The rope was removed and Aramis nearly sank to his knees with relief. Guards moved in to take his arms again, they kept him on his feet and dragged him to the stairs.

At the bottom he came face to face with his saviour. Brother Lussier.

“Thank you, thank you…”

Brother Lussier offered a wearied smiled, but Aramis was whisked away to the castle before anything else could be said.

**~oOo~**

They found themselves back in Lecocq’s room. Aramis stood to one side flanked by guards while Brother Lussier and the captain took a seat.

“Start at the beginning. Tell me everything.”

“Some months ago now Aramis arrived at the Abbey with another man.”

“Romero?”

“Yes, though I knew them as Ancel and Renou. Aramis was badly wounded and left in my care while Romero sought work in the castle. I believe he found a job in the kitchens. In time Aramis recovered.” Brother Lussier turned to point at Aramis. “This is a true man of God, he knows scripture as well as I do, and he was always eager to lend a hand with our work. Romero on the other hand... whenever I met his eyes I felt the gaze of the devil upon me. He was a malign influence. He smothered the light I saw in Aramis when they were together. But Aramis would not speak to me of what passed between them.”

“Brother…” Aramis tried to warn him off, but a blow to his ribs stopped him in his tracks. He didn’t want Brother Lussier revealing anything about Romero.

The monk hesitated at witnessing such violence, but Lecocq went on as if nothing had happened.

“And yet Aramis was found running from the powder shortly before it blew half the castle to hell. He was involved, he is guilty.”

“He is not, if you listen you will learn.” Brother Lussier huffed and continued. “Aramis also found work at the castle, and I did not see him for some time. But one night he came to me and confided in me. He said that Romero was going to do something terrible, and he did not have long. He came to me in desperation, wondering what to do.”

Aramis frowned. None of that was true…

“I urged him to do what he could to stop this terrible thing from happening, and then we prayed together, to seek wisdom from God. When he departed he was determined to do what was right. I believe Aramis tried to prevent the explosion, but he arrived too late and had no choice but to flee. Have no doubt that Romero is the true criminal in all of this. Aramis is only guilty of making a poor choice in friendship.”

Lecocq turned to Aramis. “What do you say to this?”

It wasn’t true, he was guilty. Why was Brother Lussier lying?

“Aramis, your _friend_ is guilty.” Brother Lussier looked at him meaningfully.

His breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t seem to speak.

“If this is true, why didn’t you say anything?” Lecocq narrowed his eyes.

“Romero is my friend.” The words were out of Aramis’ mouth before he even knew he was saying them.

“See? The man has an unhealthy hold on him. He would no more turn Romero in than he would his own mother. But he is innocent.”

“I cannot just let him go…” Lecocq’s fists clenched on the table.

“Hanging him will not bring you justice. Locking him away will not bring you justice. You want justice don’t you?”

“More than anything.”

“If you hang an innocent man, what kind of justice is that?”

“He was involved somehow, I know it.”

“You know nothing. You are just putting the pieces together to make the story you want to tell. I tell you, he is innocent. He would not knowingly harm a soul. I have never known a man as devout as Aramis.”

“But to go so far as hanging, just to keep his friend safe?”

Aramis’ voice quietly interrupted. “Greater love has no one but this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.”

“And that, I can tell you, is from the Book of John.” Brother Lussier smiled slightly. “Let him go. He has suffered enough.”

“I can’t…”

“You can. All you have to do is let go of the fiction, Captain.” Brother Lussier leaned forwards across the table. “Let me put it another way. The people out there all heard me - a man of God - speak, they are full of doubts, and I will make the truth well known. If you hang him now, what will they think of you?”

Lecocq and Brother Lussier stared at each other for a long moment, a sort of unseen battle passed between them. Then Lecocq drew back.

“Very well. I will release him to you at the Abbey. I will want to speak to you both about Romero further.”

“I will be happy to, and I am sure Aramis will welcome my hospitality once again.”

Aramis gave a slight nod. He could hardly believe this was happening. One minute he was going to be hung, the next he was free. Well, free to go to the Abbey at any rate. Still, they were trusting the words and bonds of men of God. They were not quite as sturdy as chains.

Lecocq directed his attention to the guards. “Disperse the crowd. There will be no execution today. And let the others go. Brother, you can take him.”

When the guards relinquished their grip on Aramis he wavered, but Brother Lussier was there to steady him.

“Come, let us make our way outside slowly.”

“Thank you.” Aramis rasped. “Thank you…”

**~oOo~**

The courtyard was empty, though the sun was just as blinding as before. Aramis trembled at seeing the scaffold standing ominously across the yard. Brother Lussier placed himself on the other side of Aramis to block it from view as best he could. They slowly made their way to the gate, guards stood to either side of it. Aramis half expected them to stop him from leaving. But they just watched with a silent sort of judgement. Guilty or innocent, guilty or innocent… What was he?

They left the castle behind and made their way towards the streets. Though they moved slowly, Aramis’ mind was racing. The air was fresh, and he was held by no restraint. The world almost seemed too open, he felt vulnerable. There was too much space, too many eyes… He was shaking.

“Courage, Aramis, just a little further.” Brother Lussier squeezed his arm.

Aramis closed his eyes and tried to calm his frantic breaths. When he had come back to himself somewhat there was only one person on his mind.

“Have you seen Romero? Do you know where he is?”

The monk suddenly tensed. “No.”

“I need to find him, I need to-”

“He is gone, Aramis. He likely fled to the Spanish border long ago. Forget him.”

“Aramis!” A shout came from behind accompanied by the sound of men running.

Aramis flinched at hearing it, fearing he was about to be set upon or taken back. But he was engulfed in Porthos arms a moment later.

“I thought you were… I thought…” Porthos drew back, though he kept his hands on Aramis’ shoulders. “Are you all right?”

Aramis’ eyes roved around, verging on panic. They set upon Athos, who was keeping a discreet distance, despite the fact it looked like it pained him to do so.

“I take it you are friends?” Brother Lussier asked.

“Yes, we served as musketeers together, he’s like a brother to us.” Porthos said with a broad smile, his eyes still glued to Aramis.

Aramis tried to pull away from the contact. He didn’t want them. Now he was free he had to find Romero. He looked beyond Athos and Porthos, as if he could spot the man wandering the streets. But it just brought home to him that people were watching, and it was far too open… Aramis trembled slightly and pressed into Brother Lussier.

“Let us find somewhere a little more discreet and a little less overwhelming, hm?” Brother Lussier suggested.

The monk started guiding them down winding side streets until he seemed satisfied and came to a stop. His manner changed in an instant. A frantic edge took his voice. “Take him away from here with all haste. Get horses and ride away. It isn’t safe, and you haven’t much time.”

“But he has wounds that need tending.” Porthos frowned as he moved in to support Aramis.

Aramis flinched at the contact, but all attention was on on Brother Lussier now.

“And they can be tended away from here. Riding away will not kill him, staying here is far more dangerous. I do not trust Captain Lecocq, there are more subtle ways to kill a man than hanging. But he is not my main concern...”

“What do you mean?” Athos stepped forwards to speak at last.

“Please, just take him and go.”

“What is it you’re scared of?”

“I cannot say.” The monk looked over his shoulder as if expecting eavesdroppers.

“We might be able to help if you would just explain.”

Brother Lussier whipped back around. “I have already said too much. It is best if you just go.”

“Athos.” Porthos cut in. “We’ve got him back, now let’s get out of this place, hm? Why don’t you fetch some horses and meet us by the northern bridge?”

“If there’s a danger-”

“Athos. We don’t have to get involved. Can’t we just walk away this once?”

He hesitated for a moment, and then gave a nod. “Very well.”

Brother Lussier moved forwards to take hold of Aramis’ hands. Aramis felt like the conversation had flowed all around and over him. He had hardly taken anything in. But now the monk seemed to demand his attention. Their eyes met, and Aramis listened intently.

“Do this one thing for me, my friend. Ride away and forget this place. Forget what happened here, forget him.”

Aramis frowned. “Do you know where he is?”

“Listen, Aramis. He is gone. Forget him.”

“But you would tell me, if you knew?”

Brother Lussier seemed to swallow heavily. “Yes… Now go.” He released Aramis’ hands and took a step back. “All of you, go.”

“Thank you Brother. We are in your debt.” Porthos uttered solemnly.

Athos nodded his agreement. “If you ever have need of us find the musketeers and ask for Porthos and Athos.”

Brother Lussier smiled wamly. “Good luck to you. You will all be in my prayers.”

With that they each took their leave.

**~oOo~**

_“I’ve done as you asked. Now let them go."_

_“So I see.”_

_“Please, you said you would let them go.”_

_“Where is he?”_

_“I don’t know, I only saw to his release.”_

_“Why do I find that hard to believe? Come in and shut the door.”_

_“Have some mercy.”_

_“You’ve let me down…"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote by Arturo Pérez-Reverte.


	14. Chapter 14

“I don’t want to go. I need to find him.”

Aramis tried to pull away from Porthos. They wanted to leave Foix, but he would stand little chance of tracking Romero if they did. Brother Lussier insisted that Romero was gone, but he had to know for sure. He didn’t want to let his friend down.

“No you don’t. Now get on the horse.”

“He’s my friend.”

“ _We_ are your friends, and we have to go.”

“Stop lying!” They were not his friends. They were strangers at best. The Athos and Porthos he used to know were a fiction. Going with them felt like another sort of captivity.

“Athos?”

Athos stepped forwards and Aramis stepped back, but Porthos’ hand was there to restrain him.

“Let. Go.” Aramis grit out.

“We’re trying to help you.” Athos started to reach out a hand, but then thought better of it and let it drop to his side. “I know you don’t see it, but we’re trying to help. Come with us, and once we’re away from here we can sort everything out. I promise.”

“Can’t you just let me go?” Aramis asked quietly.

“It’s not safe. We only want to go somewhere safe.”

“Romero keeps me safe.”

Porthos seemed to bristle at his side. “Romero got you into this mess.”

“But he is my friend.”

“Stop saying that!” Porthos growled, but he calmed as soon as Aramis flinched at his raised voice. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted… Look, we can ride to the nearest inn, get some food and rest. Wouldn’t you like to sleep in a bed?”

“I don’t want to leave him behind.”

“You’re not leaving him behind, he’s not here anymore.” Porthos couldn’t keep the frustration from his voice.

“I need to see.”

Aramis turned his back on them and made an attempt to walk away. This time Athos did not hesitate, he grabbed Aramis’ undamaged arm and held him back. Aramis started to struggle, so Athos brought his other arm to bear across Aramis’ chest. He fought harder, writhing against Athos’ hold. His arm came loose and Aramis swung it at Athos’ face.

“Aramis, calm down!”

“GET OFF ME!”

“Be still! You will hurt yourself!”

“ _You’re_ the one hurting me!”

For a few moments they wrestled with each other. Aramis, frantic and flailing. Athos, desperately trying to hold on. Porthos held back, seemingly unsure of whether or how to intervene.

“Porthos! Do something!” Athos yelled.

“I can’t.”

“We haven’t got time for this!”

“Don’t ask me to.”

“If you won’t, I will.” Athos growled as he fought to restrain Aramis.

Porthos hesitated a moment, and then he reached for his pistol with some distaste. “I’m sorry.”

Too late Aramis realised what was happening. The butt of the pistol came down. “No! Do-”

**~oOo~**

Disembodied voices echoed around the thick fog of his mind. He could latch onto words if he concentrated hard enough.

“... drink… arm… pass me…”

But it seemed too much effort to keep hold of them. He let the words drift away again. The voices ebbed and flowed around. They crashed into him as a sliver more awareness came back. Words joined together, battering against his consciousness.

“... beyond stitching, but healing well…”

“... eat a little…”

“... this will help with the pain…”

His eyes slid open. He was in a room, in a bed. The comfort seemed strange. Porthos sat by him.

“Aramis?”

He frowned.

“Come here, drink this.”

Porthos helped him lean forwards to take a sip of some concoction. And then he realised what he was doing, and what had happened.

He pushed Porthos’ arm away. “You… you hit me.”

“You didn’t give me a choice.” Porthos sighed. “I am sorry.”

“Am I your prisoner?” He was confused. They hadn’t tied him up. Far from it. In fact, they had tended his wounds. He was bandaged and his arm was splinted and wrapped. They appeared to have cared for him. But Porthos had knocked him out and stolen him away. And he was sure that if he tried to leave, they would try to stop him.

“Our prisoner? God no, Aramis, why would you think that?”

“You took me away… and you hit me.” His voice felt as slow as his sluggish thoughts.

“You are _not_ our prisoner. We would never do that to you.”

“Then let me go.”

A pause, and then Athos stepped forwards from his place hidden away in the corner. “We are doing what is best for you. Just trust us for now, that’s all I ask.”

“Not you…”

“Then trust me.” Porthos tried.

“But you hit me.” He couldn’t think, he just wanted to sleep. To get away and sleep. To be left alone. To find Romero…

And then whatever he had been given to drink took effect. Suddenly the pain was gone. Fire no longer tortured him and his tense muscles relaxed. Aramis’ eyes widened and his mouth hung open at the shock of it. He had forgotten what it was like to be free from pain, and now feeling normality return to his body... it was as if he had ascended to heaven.

A tear fell freely down his cheek.

Porthos leaned forwards. “Aramis? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I feel… nothing.”

“Are you all right?”

“It’s gone. The… the pain.” His eyes welled up and more tears fell. “Do you know how wonderful it is to feel nothing?”

Porthos smiled sadly. “I can imagine. Sleep now, Aramis. Get some rest.”

For the first time in a long time he was in a bed, and he didn’t hurt. Aramis closed his eyes and he was gone.

**~oOo~**

When Aramis woke again he was given another drink, and insisted on sitting up. Then Porthos went to fetch them something to eat. That left Aramis alone in the room with Athos. A fact that did not make him happy.

For a while they bore an awkward silence. Eventually Aramis decided to break it with a question.

“Will you let me go now?”

Athos sighed. “Where will you go?”

To Foix, to find Romero… but he knew that wasn’t the answer Athos wanted to hear.

“Away from here… to a monastery perhaps.”

“And to Foix on your way there, hm?”

“You can’t stop me.”

“We already have.”

Athos came to sit on the end of the bed then. He stared at Aramis intently. Aramis met his gaze, though it made his skin prickle uncomfortably. He didn’t like Athos being so close. He felt like a specimen being observed under a magnifying glass.

“What did he do to you?”

“He told me the truth.”

“That we are the enemy and he is your friend?”

“He made more sense than you ever did, _Comte_.”

“How could he condemn us when he has never met us?”

“He didn’t need to meet you, he knows your sort. You’re all the same.”

“And all our years of friendship, everything we’ve been through… Does it mean nothing to you?”

“It wasn’t real. I was just a means to your end.”

“It was real.” Athos’ voice seemed to catch. “Do you know how much I’ve missed you? We used to sit around our campfire just waiting for you to appear, knowing you never would. Do you not realise the hole you left behind?”

“And do you not realise I won’t listen to your lies?”

“They’re not lies. Remember what we had. Remember riding through the fields outside Paris, racing against the wind and each other. Remember late nights in tavern corners with flowing wine and conversation. Remember crossing swords in a friendly sparring match and laughing?”

“I remember you showing off that you had the fastest horse and the fastest sword. I remember dragging you from a tavern corner, wallowing in your own demons, forgetting about everybody else’s. Can’t you remember turning your back on me when Marsac returned? Where were you when I needed you? You’ve never been there when I needed you.”

Athos looked away, just as Porthos came in. He couldn’t fail to notice the strained silence between them.

“The innkeeper’s going to send us something up.”

Aramis cleared his throat and spoke to Porthos. “Not necessary. I would like to go now.”

As Porthos sat down Athos got to his feet and went to the window. Aramis felt he could breathe a little easier with him out of the way.

“We would like you to come with us. We’re going to meet with Treville at Limoges. There is a lot to sort out and he will be able to help.”

“He can’t help me.” Aramis muttered darkly.

“You know he will. He’s the Minister, he has all sorts of influence.”

A bitter look soured Aramis’ face. “Can he stop the war? Can he bring back the dead?”

“Not even Treville has that power. But whatever you want to do, he will help. Whether it’s rejoin the regiment, or take a place in his office…”

“I want none of those things. I only want to be left alone.”

Athos turned from the window. “No, you want to find Romero don’t you?”

Aramis just looked away. He didn’t even want to engage Athos with a response.

It didn’t stop Athos from continuing. “For some incomprehensible reason your only desire is to run away and find your so called ‘friend’.”

“Athos…” Came Porthos’ voice with a warning.

“If he is such a good friend, then where is he? Hm? Why is he not here, tending your wounds, helping you eat and drink?”

“You don’t understand, he had to leave-”

“Then help me understand! Tell me what happened!”

Athos’ brusque manner was beginning to stoke Aramis’ ire. “You can’t understand! Not you! You’ll never understand what we were trying to do.”

His breath came faster and he leaned forwards, glaring at Athos. How could Athos possibly understand the depravity he grew from and wallowed in? He was everything Aramis fought against. He would never be able to see the truth, for he was blinded by privilege.

“I can’t understand if you don’t explain yourself! Aramis, for goodness sake, you were implicated in an explosion that killed many people - _innocent_ people. I need an explanation!”

“Athos, why don’t you take a walk?” Porthos cut in.

For a tense moment Athos looked between the two of them, and then he seemed to deflate, the anger leaking out of him. “Very well. If you need me I will be checking on the horses.”

Porthos waited until Athos was out of the door before gently putting a hand to Aramis’ arm.

“If you’re not ready to talk, I won’t push you. But we have to move forwards. What happened, happened, and it’s in the past now. You just have to work out where to go from here. Foix is behind you, so stop looking back.”

“I can’t see anything ahead…” Aramis sounded lost when he spoke.

“Well, wherever you’re looking, see me standing beside you. I’ll be there, even if there’s nothing else.”

Aramis felt like he should smile. That’s what he would have done before, back in Paris, a lifetime ago. He would smile, offer some reassurance or appreciation. But he couldn’t. He felt cold, like there was something missing at the heart of him. Porthos wasn’t Athos, although he was surely under the Comte’s influence, he wasn’t the same. He knew poverty and desperation. Porthos could perhaps understand in time… but Aramis still could not smile at him.

In the face of his silence Porthos offered a small smile and squeezed his arm. “Just think about Limoges. You never know what paths will open up beyond there, you might just find something. I’ll leave you to rest a while.”

Aramis watched as Porthos got to his feet and made for the door. No doubt he would find Athos, and they would end up deep in discussion, thick as thieves. Still, Aramis’ thoughts did turn to Limoges. If nothing else, meeting Treville would give him a chance to find out how the war was going, and more besides. Should he find Romero again he would be in possession of some valuable information.

**~oOo~**

It was quiet.

He couldn’t breathe. His mouth was stopped up by mud.

He was underground, in his grave. A ditch. The worms fed on the meat of the dead, on his flesh. Crawling, nameless creatures, skittered along his skin. Digging, digging down. His fingers twitched - the only movement he was capable of - though he wanted to frantically thrash and claw his way out. He was frozen and trapped, held down by the weight of the dirt blocking his eyes, blocking his ears. And his mouth. Screaming. Internally screaming.

It was quiet.

And then he was screaming, flailing. He broke the surface and heaved in a breath.

His eyes were wide with shock.

Darkness. There was nothing. His eyes were still blocked, he couldn’t see. He was blind. He-

And then Porthos pulled him in tight. Aramis was crushed against his chest. Suddenly the world seemed a little more real and something in him broke.

Through the shuddering and sobbing Aramis latched on to a quiet voice. He couldn’t make out the words, but the low, soft tone was grounding. Usually he was left alone to claw his way from a nightmare. In the pitch black of his cell Aramis was never really sure he was out of it. But now the warmth of another person and their reassuring voice were dragging him back.

His frantic heart began to settle, and his breath began to slow. Until Porthos lit a candle across the room. Aramis realised then - he was in Athos’ arms. He tensed and his senses took flight again. He pushed against Athos, desperate to be free of his embrace.

“Get off me!”

For a moment Athos just held on, his grip seemed to tighten. But after a distressed whine from Aramis he let go and backed away.

Aramis’ gaze skittered around the room. The flickering candlelight threw distorted shadows across the walls, it matched the chaos of his mind. It felt good to have the comfort of his brother, but it wasn’t his brother, it was _Athos_ . He didn’t want Athos. But he missed that relinquished touch, it had been so long, so very long, since he had been touched with kindness. It was deception though, there was no kindness behind _his_ touch. He didn’t want Athos, and yet he wanted Athos. It was all so confusing…

Amidst the confusion Aramis screwed his eyes shut and put a hand to his head. His fingers fisted and twisted in his hair, and a frustrated growl came from deep in his throat. This didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense any more.

If only Romero had been there. He would make sense of it… 

Aramis felt his hand being tugged away. He looked up to find Porthos holding it.

“You’re all right. You’re safe with us now. You-”

Aramis suddenly realised that he didn’t need Romero there to know what he would have said.

“I don’t want _him_ touching me.” Aramis spat as he glared at Athos.

Athos’ face was in shadow, his expression unreadable, but the slump of his shoulders told of dejection.

Porthos went on as if he hadn’t heard a word. “You’re safe, we won’t let any harm come to you.”

Aramis screwed his eyes tight shut. The flailing had ignited the pain in his arm and now coming back to his senses it was demanding his attention. He grit his teeth and tried to speak. “Can I have a dr… a drink of…”

“It’s here.”

Porthos poured some of the tincture out and handed it to Aramis who near enough snatched it up. He downed it in one go and waited for the pleasant warmth to spread through his limbs. When it began to take effect and he loosened up Porthos gently tugged the cup from his lax grip.

“Lie back. Try to sleep.”

He only managed a couple of hours before he woke choking on dirt again.

**~oOo~**

The three men stayed at the inn another day and night before the decision to leave was taken out of their hands.

Aramis was lightly dozing after another night of broken sleep. He took no notice of the knock at their door and kept his eyes tightly closed.

“Is everything all right Monsieur?” Porthos must have opened the door.

“I wish I could say it was.” That was the voice of the innkeeper, and he sounded regretful.

“What’s the problem?”

“I’ve had complaints about the noise... I am sorry, but I will have to ask you to leave.”

“He can’t help the nightmares-”

“I know, I was a soldier in my younger days. Believe me, I know what suffering keeps him awake at night. But I have to think of my other patrons. There is a mother with her young daughter across the way, he’s scaring the child screaming like that.”

“Have a little compassion-”

Athos cut in then. “Porthos, we can go. We weren’t going to stop much longer anyway. Let’s leave these people in peace.”

A pain flared in Aramis’ heart that had nothing to do with his injuries. It was the thought that he was being a disturbance. The fact he had scared a small child. He shouldn’t be near anybody like this…

The next thing he knew a hand was shaking him gently.

“Aramis?” It was Porthos.

“I’m awake.”

“Let’s get you up, we need to change those bandages.”

“Are we leaving?”

A moment of quiet. “You heard then?”

He smiled bitterly. “I’m scaring children.”

Porthos frowned. “It’s not your fault.”

“We should go. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Porthos leaned forwards then. “Listen to me. You are not - and you never will be - a burden.”

Aramis wiped at his eyes with his good hand, not really knowing what to say. “Let’s just go.”

“You are _not_ a burden Aramis.” Porthos sat back with a long exhale. “Does this mean you’re coming with us?”

“Yes, I’ll come.”

It seemed Porthos couldn’t hide his smile. “Good, we’ll change your bandages and eat first. Will you manage a few more days in the saddle?”

“I’ll bear it.”

**~oOo~**

It wasn’t pleasant.

Though the tincture kept much of his pain at bay, Aramis still felt light headed. He started out on a horse of his own, but once he began swaying a little too much he was cajoled onto Porthos’ horse. At least he could lie back and drift away. Though when he surrendered his consciousness his sleep was fitful. Often Porthos woke him and whispered quiet reassurances at his ear.

They stopped frequently to rest and eat. While Porthos checked Aramis over and got him settled, Athos spent time with the horses and drifted at the edge of their camp. He always muttered something about keeping watch, but Aramis suspected keeping his distance was more accurate. Aramis was glad anyway, he didn’t want Athos near him. Although some part of him remembered that warm embrace… he pushed it away.

Nights passed restlessly, but out in the wilds there was nobody to disturb. Only the nocturnal animals heard his screams and took fright. Daylight loosened his mind’s nightmare hold, but he never seemed to be free of it entirely. Aramis kept seeing _things_ moving in the corner of his eye. Formless shapes, creatures, villains… he didn’t know what they were, but whenever he turned to look they were gone.

One grey morning they were riding through a wooded area while Aramis drifted. His head rested back against Porthos who kept one hand on him and one on the reins.

“Am I awake, Porthos?” He mumbled.

“Yes, you are.”

“It’s just that the trees are whispering…”

“It’s the rain.”

There was a faint hissing sound all around. Aramis couldn’t make out the words, but he knew they were saying something. Still, if he were awake it couldn’t be real. Trees didn’t have voices.

“Are you sure? I don’t feel wet.”

“That’s because the trees are too thick here. If it comes down any harder you’ll feel it for sure. Hold on…”

Porthos twisted slightly and his horse went in another direction. Moments later Aramis felt the raindrops hitting him. They had moved to an area where the trees thinned out, it wasn’t exactly a clearing, but the leaves no longer formed a tight canopy above. Aramis tilted his head back and let the cool rain hit his face.

“You feel it now?”

Aramis smiled as the rain ran down his cheeks. “Yes.”

“And that sweet earthy smell?”

“It’s there.”

“Take it in. Breathe it in. You’re awake, and this is real.”

He felt like the sweat and dirt on his brow was being washed away. If he sat there long enough the rain might just wash the rest of him away too. There was a sense of peace in it, the soft hissing, the running water, and the fresh air.

But the peace was broken by a shout from Athos.

“Porthos?”

“A moment!” Porthos shouted back. He paused, letting Aramis savour the calm a little longer before reluctantly making a move. “Come on, he’ll think we’ve got lost.”

“I don’t mind being lost.” Aramis mumbled absently.

Porthos gave an amused huff and turned his horse back around.

Just ahead Athos emerged from the trees with Aramis’ horse in tow, and an expression of annoyance on his face. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing Athos, it’s fine.”

The annoyance softened and his eyes dropped to Aramis. “Is he all right?”

“Yes, as I said - everything’s fine. We were just taking a moment to appreciate the rain.”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you I’d rather be out of it.”

With that they set out on their path again.


	15. Chapter 15

The next day they rode into Limoges. Aramis had wanted to sit his own horse for the last leg of the journey, and though he ached and twinged with pain he had managed it without falling. 

There were more people here, and a military presence added to the usual hustle and bustle. Aramis had grown used to the quiet roads and trails, he felt his heart clench and his breath quicken on returning to a populated area again. Porthos seemed to sense he was feeling unsettled and drew a little closer. As they rode through the streets Aramis felt that people were watching him, their eyes were accusing, did they know what he had done?

Athos flagged down a soldier and asked for Minister Treville. They were pointed to a rather impressive chateau. On arriving a boy came to take their horses while a guard showed them to Treville’s office. They were hardly through the door before the man himself came sweeping towards them.

“It is good to see you again!” 

He gave the three a warm greeting and an embrace each, though Aramis quietly bore it in a stiff manner.

Treville swept his arm out to three chairs. “Please, sit, we have much to talk about.”

It felt good to get the weight off his feet. Aramis’ aches and pains began to settle a little finally being out of the saddle. While the others made their pleasantries Aramis’ eyes roved the room, taking in the bookcases and the table strewn with parchment. He tried to pay attention when the conversation turned more serious.

“You should perhaps be made aware of the manner of our departure from Foix…” Athos started diplomatically.

“I’ve already been made aware.” Treville spoke with a hint of humour. “I have here a letter from a rather irate Captain Lecocq.” He rifled through the papers on his desk before handing it to Athos. “It claims you have absconded with a prisoner and it demands your immediate arrest and return to Foix.”

Aramis cleared his throat. “He let me go.”

“He says he released you to the custody of a monk. The monk is now missing and you were seen riding away.”

“Brother Lussier is missing?” Aramis asked, somewhat shocked. What could have happened to him? Maybe Lecocq did something…

Treville nodded. “And he thinks that you two murdered him in order to rescue Aramis.”

“We did no such thing.” Came Porthos’ stony reply.

“Of course you didn’t. Do you really think I’d believe a word of it?”

Athos looked up from his perusal of the letter. “Fact is Aramis was released, he was no longer a prisoner when we rode away with him. As to the monk’s murder, there isn’t even a body, he is simply missing at present. There is nothing to arrest us for.”

“Oh, Lecocq has come up with a few things…”

“I need to go back.” All eyes turned to Aramis.

“Why?” Treville asked in confusion.

“Brother Lussier was good to me. He saved my life, more than once. I owe it to him.”

Athos’ look was full of warning. Aramis didn’t need to read minds in order to know the words he was thinking…  _ Liar. Romero. _

Of course he wanted to seek out Romero, but it wasn’t a lie. He  _ did _ want to find Brother Lussier, the monk had done so much for him.

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Aramis. We need to keep you as far away from Foix and Lecocq as possible.”

“You’re not going to arrest us and send us back then?” Porthos asked, perhaps not entirely seriously.

“I think this is one letter that might have been misplaced. Maybe it accidentally slipped from my desk into the fireplace, or the messenger boy may have been careless with it and it blew away in the wind. Such a tragic turn of events. The perpetrators will never be brought to justice now.”

Athos gave what passed for a wry smile. “My thanks, Minister. Now, I must speak with you about my return to the front.”

“Ah, before you get any further, I have decided to withdraw the regiment to Paris. The King and Queen are in need of your protection, as well as the city. Things have changed while you’ve been away. The streets are more violent, the people more desperate, refugees are pouring in…” Treville brushed a tired hand down his face. “The situation there is not good.”

“It grieves me to hear it.” Athos spoke with an air of solemnity. “It seems we have been miles away fighting for a home that has ended up just as war torn and ravaged.”

“It can be put right. I’m hoping the regiment will be able to restore law and order and make Paris as good as she ever was. As to the particulars...” Treville’s eyes flicked to Aramis for a moment. “Aramis, forgive me, I have been remiss. The journey must have been hard on you. Why don’t you clean up from the road and rest? I have a physician on hand if you need him, and I will have food and fresh clothes brought up to you.”

Aramis hesitated and considered. It all stank of trying to get him out of the way while they talked business. Although he supposed he was no longer a musketeer and had no business hearing it. “Very well.”

“Battier!” At Treville’s shout a guard opened the door and stepped in. “Please show Aramis to a room, and send Madame Sylvestre to attend his needs.”

Aramis noted Porthos hiding a smile at those words. But Aramis simply got to his feet and gave a slight bow. “My thanks for your hospitality, Minister.”

“I will be up to see you later. Rest well.”

**~oOo~**

Aramis was taken to a small room with a bed and a few bare bits of furniture. The guard left and some time later another returned along with an older woman he assumed to be Madame Sylvestre. True to Treville’s word she brought him some clothes and a bowl of warm water to wash with. Once that was done with she fetched him some food. He ate it eagerly, having survived on nothing but road rations for a few days. After clearing his bowl away Madame Sylvestre offered to call for the physician, but Aramis refused. There was nothing to be done for his injuries, only time would heal him now, and the tincture kept the worst of the pain at bay. She left him to rest, but Aramis noticed the guard still stood outside his door.

After showing Madame Sylvestre out Aramis looked him up and down. “You can go.”

“I am to stay with you, Monsieur.” 

“But I have need of nothing else. You are dismissed.”

“My orders are to stay with you. I will stand quietly and be of no disturbance.”

“Well… we wouldn’t want you disobeying orders.” Aramis retreated and closed the door.

He had been trapped in rooms with guards outside too often of late. This felt like another kind of imprisonment. He was half tempted to go for a walk and see how closely the guard would stick with him. But he was tired, and the bed did look comfortable.

Aramis sat down and shrugged out of his shirt. He unwrapped the bandages around his body for a cursory look over his wounds. Bruises still mottled his skin, but they were not so deep and dark now. The cuts were closing well, though he could not see those upon his back. Aramis was quite confident he could dispense with the bandages now. There was no spotting of blood on the cloth, and his wounds did not seep. But Porthos insisted on wrapping him up still, perhaps for his own peace of mind more than anything else. 

And then there was his arm. It was tightly splinted and he still resorted to resting it in a sling now and then, but Aramis was keen to be rid of it. He held his hand up before his face and twitched his fingers. A flare of pain came in answer. Aramis scowled. Still, at least he could move his fingers. It could have been much worse.

Aramis gingerly curled up on his side. He was beginning to ache, but the tincture was buried somewhere in Porthos’ saddlebags. Instead of going to the effort of retrieving it, Aramis tried to sleep through the pain.

He couldn’t tell how much time had passed when he was woken by a knock on the door. He pushed himself up groggily and winced when he turned to face the intruder.

It was Treville.

“Apologies, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“And I didn’t mean to sleep so long.” Not that it was a very restful sleep. It never was these days.

Aramis slowly slid his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his shirt. He had never been one for modesty, but he didn’t like the way Treville was eyeing his bruised body.

“Did the physician see you?”   


“No. There’s no need. I’ve been patched up, I just have to wait for these to fade now.” Aramis waved a nonchalant hand at his marked torso, and tried to pull his shirt on.  He didn’t make it look easy, he moved laboriously and tried to stifle a slight groan. 

“Still, you seem to be in pain.” Treville raised an eyebrow, as if daring Aramis to deny it.

“It’s nothing, I’ve had worse. You know I have.”

Treville looked momentarily regretful before he seemed to concede that battle and went to pull a chair up to the bed.

“Anyway, it is good to see you in possession of your senses again. How much do you remember of our last meeting in Foix?”

Aramis cast his mind back to his captivity… There was pain, fear, and darkness. Endless darkness. That’s where the whispers came from. But there was shouting too, screams, and Spanish. Pain.  _ The Comte _ . Pain. Torture. Darkness.

“Aramis?”

Had Treville been there? 

He couldn’t be sure… but there was the distant rattle of chains wrapped around  _ something _ he just couldn’t discern.

“Aramis?”

He shook his head and came back to himself. “I… I don’t remember much.”

Treville looked at him for a long moment and absently put a hand to his own throat. “It’s probably for the best…  They tell me you’ve been having trouble sleeping?”

Aramis huffed a bitter laugh. “Trouble isn’t the word.”

“It will fade, as it did before.”

And this was just like before. The way he lay injured in bed, with Treville regretful at his side. Back then Treville carried the guilt, but it was his to own now. Aramis had been the one responsible for murder this time. It was necessary though. It was necessary. Just as Treville thought the slaughter of twenty of his own men was necessary. Twenty lives to save the skin of a royal, to continue trading secrets behind closed doors. In contrast the massacre Aramis caused had struck a blow against their sort. An eye for an eye. Were they even now?

After Savoy Aramis was half out of his mind with grief and pain. Treville sat by him, joined in his loss, fishing for futile words of comfort. Aramis had been ignorant to the part Treville played in the massacre. He knew now. He knew how the snake could wear a mask of concern. Romero would have wanted Treville dead. If all had gone to plan he would have been dead. It seemed strange now Aramis thought about it. How had Treville survived? He was supposed to be in that room with all of the others condemned to death. So was Athos. How had they escaped?

“Yes, Savoy left it’s mark on me for some time, but time is also a great healer.” Aramis eyed Treville pointedly. “How lucky we are, both to survive massacres.”

“I’m not sure lucky is the right word. Unfortunate to be caught up in them I would say.”

“At least you had the good fortune not to lie for days amongst your dead brothers.”

Aramis felt like there was a conversation going on between them on another level. He blamed Treville for one massacre. Would Treville blame him for the other? 

“At least you are now out of the clutches of Romero.”   


He couldn’t help but stiffen at hearing that name. Perhaps Treville was playing on another level entirely.

The Minister continued. “It was him who forced your hand?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Aramis made an unsubtle attempt to change the topic. “Tell me, how goes the war?”

“As well as can be expected.” Treville was not deterred. “I cannot imagine you would take the innocent lives of your own countrymen without considerable coercion. What did he do? Threaten you? Beat you?”

Aramis hung his head and looked to the floor. “Only what was deserved…”

He knew Treville was playing on his guilt, and it was working. Although those deaths were necessary, he still regret the loss of the innocent.

“Surely you did nothing to warrant violence?”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t.”

Treville leaned forwards. “Try me.”

He was tempted. For a moment he wanted nothing more than to shout and rail against all of the doubters. Their words made him seethe…  _ Romero is not your friend… Romero did something to you... Romero has twisted your mind _ … Romero had opened his eyes and brought him the truth. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops and make them see. 

But Treville was blind. He wouldn’t understand. He was as good as one of them now. Romero would want him dead.

Aramis locked his eyes onto Treville’s. “All men are given what they deserve. It might be violence, it might be death. Even you will become what you deserve.”

Treville sat up a little straighter and stared at him stonily. It was the sort of look that sought to strip Aramis down to his very soul. A lesser man might have looked away, but Aramis maintained eye contact. 

Eventually Treville took in a deep breath and broke the uncomfortable moment. “You must be tired, I will leave you to rest.” 

He got to his feet and made for the door. 

“Minister, your man outside, you can dismiss him.”

Treville paused with his hand on the door. He seemed to consider Aramis’ request before giving two abrupt words over his shoulder. “He stays.”

As soon as Treville was out of the door Aramis let out a growl. He was as good as a prisoner. Treville had come to him once again with the fatherly facade masking a snake. The Minister wound words around and around trying to trip him, trap him. Aramis wouldn’t have it. 

He set to pacing up and down the room, trying to think. What to do, what to do… If only Romero had been there, he would know. Eventually Aramis set on first getting out and losing the guard. He threw the door open and marched down the corridor. The sound of the guard’s footsteps following him stoked Aramis’ fury. He was about to turn and confront the man when he walked straight into Porthos coming around the corner.

“Sorry, didn’t see you there… Are you all right?” Porthos must have picked up on his distressed state.

“Treville has me under guard!” Aramis motioned at the sheepish looking fellow behind. “Does he not trust me? You said he was going to help!”

“Calm down, why don’t we go back to your room and talk?” 

“Not if he’s outside of it!”

Porthos stepped around Aramis to have a quiet word with the guard. “I’m going to be with him, you can leave.”

“But my orders…”

“If you get any trouble, send it my way - I’m Porthos - I’ll sort it. I give you my word.”

The guard looked between them before giving his begrudging assent. “Very well.”

With that Porthos herded Aramis back to his room.

The door had barely shut before Aramis turned to shout. “Treville doesn’t trust me! He got me out of the way, and then set a guard at my door! I’m no fool, Porthos. Don’t think that I don’t see!”

“Come and sit down. Let me get you a drink, I was bringing this up to you.” Porthos took out the pain draught and went to one of the cups Madame Sylvestre had left behind.

“I don’t want any.”

“It’s been hours since your last dose, and I can see you’re in pain. Probably why you’re being so bad tempered…”

“I’m bad tempered because I’m being treated like a prisoner! And it dulls my mind, I need to think.” A dreadful suspicion took Aramis then. “Unless that’s what you want? Are you intentionally drugging me to keep me compliant?”

“Now who has trust issues, hm? I’m giving you this because I don’t want to see you hurting. But if it’ll make you happy I’ll water it down a little more. Please just take it... look, you’re all hunched up around your arm.”

And he was. Aramis had curled up as if he could somehow ward off the pain. His arm was aching terribly and tension ran through him. He downed the drink when Porthos offered it to him. After a few minutes his harsh breathing began to even out and his seized muscles relaxed.

“Better?” Porthos asked.

Despite Aramis’ protests, he gave a nod. 

“Now, tell me what happened.”

“Treville came here, questioned me… He wouldn’t dismiss his guard!”

“Look at it from his perspective for just a moment. You were responsible for an explosion that killed a lot of people, and he would have been one of them. He has to make sure you’re safe.” Porthos paused as if hesitant to go on. “You did do it, didn’t you? Athos said you admitted it to him, but you were imprisoned and not yourself at the time. So I’ll ask you myself - Did you do it?”

Aramis glared up at Porthos. 

It had been a simple act of putting a flame to a fuse. Such a little thing.

But no, it had been a great deal more. There were the lies, the murders… Those caught up in the explosion weren’t the only victims.

“I… I did it. I killed those people.” 

And to take ownership of it all with those very words felt like a claw scoring his heart. He regretted the deaths of the innocent, but they were necessary. Suddenly he felt like he was teetering on the edge, the guilt nearly outweighed the need.

Aramis bowed his head and put it into his hand, his fingers clutched wretchedly at his hair. 

He killed those people. 

The commanders who deserved it, but also the guards and the servants who did not. 

He killed them. 

Aramis grit his teeth against the threat of tears. Then the bed dipped as Porthos came to sit by him.

“I think it’s time we had a proper talk.” He pulled Aramis’ hand down and held it.

Aramis looked at their hands with a sense of curiosity. Something deep within him wanted to recoil from Porthos’ touch, but he kept his hand where it was.

“You might have killed those people, but you didn’t do it alone.”

“I lit the fuse, the blame is mine.”

“You’re telling me that without Romero you would have done it all by yourself?”

“No…” Without Romero he would have continued his travels and gone to rebuild the abbey at Foix. “... but I wanted it.”

“Meaning you don’t now?”

“I regret the loss of the innocent, but the commanders, the nobility, they needed to die. We had to strike a blow against them.” Aramis clutched at Porthos’ hand and fervently met his eyes. “You understand, you of all people have to understand. They don’t care about us. They build their empires off of our backs, caring only for their own advancement. Look at what we’re doing - sending scores of men out to die while the commanders safely push figures around a map and the King remains oblivious in his palace. It is wrong, Porthos!”

“You realise you talk treason?”

“I am a traitor, if wishing to spare the lives of ordinary Frenchmen makes me so.”

“I believe it’s taking up with a Spaniard and killing your own countrymen that does that.”

“You know it’s wrong, Porthos. How can you come from the Court and then stride through the palace, how can you  _ see _ all of that and not get angry?”

“Because I am a musketeer and I do my duty.”

“Your duty is your shackles… Oh, Porthos, I might have been chained to the wall, but you’ve been far more trammelled than I.”

“And what of the Queen? The dauphin? Does your hatred extend to them?”

Aramis looked momentarily stunned. “Not them. Never them.”

“Why? Because you love them?” Porthos hissed under his breath. “Does that make them immune?”

“They are as much victims as we are. See how the King so easily took up with Milady, while the Queen and I were made to suffer for our love?”

“But she still wears all the finery and sleeps on a bed worth more money than a gutter rat will ever see in a lifetime.”

“She was born into it. She-”

“So were the others. So was Athos - and he threw it all away.”

“And yet  _ the Captain _ still climbs faster than you or I. It is in his nature to do so. What is more he abandoned his people. He could have made provision for them, he could have used what he had to help them and improve their lot. But Athos cared nothing for them, he left them to rot and pursued advancement with the regiment instead.” 

“He made mistakes. I am sure he’ll be the first to admit it. But deep down you know Athos is an honourable man.”

“Only so far as honour suits his purpose. He is not like us. Why can’t you see that?”

“I’ll tell you what I see. I see a dear friend who became mixed up with our enemies and committed murder. I see another dear friend who dropped everything to help him. You don’t realise how much Athos has done for you.”

“I see precious little from here.”

“That’s because you can’t stand to be near him, and he knows that, so he’s keeping his distance. But he fought for you every moment you were in that prison. Even now as soon as you left the room he spoke for you when Treville voiced his doubts. The only reason you’re not in chains is because he has convinced Treville you were entirely under Romero’s influence - Everything you did was because Romero made you do it. But Treville had to be sure, I suppose that’s why he came to talk to you. Just know this: Athos is on your side. Romero is not.”

Somewhat deflated, Aramis instinctively fell on an old line. “Romero is my friend…”

“He used you. If you were thinking clearly you might see it. Why don’t you tell me about him?”   


All the fire had gone out of Aramis now, he was left feeling hollow. “What would you like to know?”

“Start at the beginning, tell me everything.”

“Well…” He shifted uncomfortably, not having the energy for any verbal or mental games. It was probably best just to give a straightforward account of events. “We crossed paths after I left Narbonne. His men were trying to steal my horse.”

“By ‘crossed paths’ do you mean he captured you?”

“Yes.” The answer was reluctant. “He treated me more as a friend than a prisoner as we went along. I just made sure not to let him down.”

_ “What did I say, priest?”  _

_ A hand tight and painful at his jaw. _

_ “Answer me!” _

_ He swallowed hard and tried to speak. “You would shoot me… if I ran.” _

_ “And what did you just do?” _

_ Shame. Such shame. “I ran.” _

_ “So you see, I must shoot you, how else are you going to learn?” _

“Go on.” Porthos prompted.

Aramis hadn’t realised he had drifted away.

“The journey didn’t go well, Romero lost men. We stopped at an inn… there was trouble.”

_ “You have blood on your hands now, priest.” _

“We took refuge at an abandoned house. That’s where...”

Where he was locked away in the darkness. Where the truth came out from all sides.

“What happened? You can tell me, you’re safe here.”

Aramis’ breath came harshly and he clutched at the side of the bed as if it were the only thing tethering him to earth. The part of him loyal to Romero didn’t want to say anything. The rest of Aramis felt like speaking of it would be a weight off his chest. 

He gave in.

“There was a cellar. No windows, no light. I was kept there for some time… I don’t know how long, day and night had no meaning. Romero came down, he beat me.”

“Aramis…” Porthos’ voice was full of remorse.

_ “You do not raise your hand to me. Not ever. Do you understand?” _

“It was deserved.”

“What did you do?”

“I… I hit him, it was an accident, but I hit him. I let him down. I broke his trust. It was deserved.”

“You must know, somewhere in there you  _ must  _ know that you didn’t deserve what he did to you.”

“But he brought me a candle. When I was good he brought me two.”

Porthos growled. “He was the one keeping you in the cellar. He didn’t have to do that.”

“I deserved it.”

“No you didn’t! He wanted to break you, and it worked.”

Aramis looked up at him with lost eyes. “I’m broken?”

“No, don’t think that. He just wanted to use you, and so he found a way to break you down and make you into something of his own. We can undo that, if you let us.”

He felt such an attachment to Romero. This was betrayal. This was letting his friend down. But everything was wrong, everything had been wrong for such a long time. He was tired, he just wanted it all to go away.

“Why don’t you carry on? What happened at the house?”

“The locals realised we were there. It was my fault… I refused to kill a boy who saw me. They attacked, Romero and I survived, though I was wounded. He got me to Foix and left me in the care of Brother Lussier at the abbey. I do hope he is all right, he was good to me.”

“What then?”

“Romero found work at the castle, he got me a position…”

_ … He plunged the dagger down into that soft hollow of flesh behind the collarbone. It sunk in deep with little resistance, doing irreparable damage... _

“I started work in the armoury, and eventually rose to take charge of it.”

_ “I will bring you a bottle of wine, make sure he gets it, and do not drink any.” _

“It was a matter of moving the powder then. You know the rest.”

Porthos was quiet for a moment, and then he squeezed Aramis’ hand. “You don’t see what he’s done to you, but I do. Maybe in time you will as well. We’ll get you better again.”

Aramis’ voice was little more than a whisper. “I’m not ill…”

“But you’re not right, you know you’re not.” 

At that Aramis just sadly nodded his head. Inside he felt a mess. Romero was his friend, but Romero had done something to him. It was deserved… it was deserved, but maybe it wasn’t. Athos was the enemy, but his touch gave comfort. Innocents were dead. It was his fault. Some part of him even recoiled from Porthos. And then there were the nightmares, the way that crowds stole his breath, and the _ things _ just out of sight. He had seen this happen to others before. 

“Maybe I’m losing my mind. Like soldiers who have seen too much of war.”

“No, you’ve been through this before. After Savoy. You might not remember what you were like, but I do. You came through the other side, and you will do so again.”

Savoy… the nightmares he recalled well enough. But there was so much he was unaware of when in the clutches of fear, and there was even more he had tried to forget. It came to him sometimes, in the depths of sleep. In the darkness.

Porthos squeezed his hand again. “Just trust me, that’s all I ask. I meant what I said before - I will be with you whatever comes. Now get some rest. We’ve got a long journey to Paris coming up, enjoy the bed while you can.”

When Porthos made to leave some part of Aramis gave a sigh of relief. It was the part of him loyal to Romero. The rest of him fought against it to utter one word…

“Stay.”

At that Porthos smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting! I've got a few days off, I'm going to do my best to get more updates out to you :)


	16. Chapter 16

They stayed a few days at Limoges, making preparations. Although Aramis had no part in it. When Porthos wasn’t with him he tried to rest, or he wandered the chateau. Aramis avoided going outside, except on one occasion when he went to see the horses. It was peaceful in the stables, there was a little activity with all the comings and goings, but once Aramis slipped in beside a horse it was like being in another world. He ran his hands down the smooth hair of the mare and listened to her deep breaths. Eventually he sat down in the straw and leaned against the back of the stable. The horse shifted slightly to relax and cock a leg. She huffed out a contented breath. Aramis felt himself relaxing as well, the outside world didn’t seem to matter. He closed his eyes and gave in to sleep. 

Aramis woke to frantic shouts.  _ ‘He’s here!’ _ A panicked Porthos appeared shortly after as Aramis blearily came back to the waking world. He felt slightly irritated as it was the first decent sleep he’d had in a while, but then he realised he had worried Porthos. After a little half hearted chastisement he returned to his room.

Aramis saw little of Athos and Treville. He supposed Athos was still avoiding him, and Treville must have been busy. But the Minister did come to see him the day they were due to depart.

Treville stood before Aramis with his hands behind his back. “I feel I must apologise for my manner before. Know that it is not you I doubt, just what was done to you.”

“There is nothing to apologise for, I’ve brought this all on myself.”

“I’m not sure that’s entirely true.” There was pity in Treville’s eyes. Porthos must have told him everything.

“I made myself what I am. I chose to do what I did.”

“Torture wounds the mind as much as the body. In time you’ll see. You did what you had to in order to survive. Romero twisted that and twisted you. Choice had little to do with it. If you refused what would have happened?”

“He would…” No, Romero would not have killed him. Hurt him maybe, but it would be well deserved. “He might have hurt me, but I shouldn’t have let him down. I only got what I deserved.”

Treville himself looked hurt at those words. “I know you believe the lies you tell yourself, but you’ll see them for what they are eventually.”

Aramis simply looked at the floor, unsure of himself.

Treville continued. “If you wish to rejoin the regiment I won’t stand in your way.”

“I don’t know what I want.” Aramis whispered. 

“But deep down you know what you are. Think on it.”

**~oOo~**

Later that day they took to the road again. Treville came to see them off. This time Aramis embraced the Minister with a little less reluctance. He even managed a small smile as they departed. Athos rode ahead, he was quiet. He was always quiet of course, but this was a troubled sort of quiet that seemed to run deeper. Porthos stuck close to Aramis, only riding up to Athos on occasion to clarify directions or other matters. 

The first night they made camp in a wooded area. Aramis woke from one of his usual nightmares to find Athos sitting up, jabbing a stick into the fire. He watched the sparks flying high as he gasped for breath. On the other side of the fire Porthos lay fast asleep. 

“What is it you dream of?” Athos asked in a nonchalant manner.

“You, burying me.” His answer hit like a shot in the dark.

Athos turned his eyes on Aramis. His expression couldn’t be made out in the shadows away from the fire.

“Porthos told me what Romero did to you.” He faced the fire again and gave it another hard jab. “The darkness can’t be easy to bear.”

“He shouldn’t have done that.”

“He only wanted me to understand-”

“Why I’m broken?”

“No - why you’re so taken with that man. What you’ve been through would be enough to break the strongest of men, but don’t think of yourself as broken. I just couldn’t understand your attachment to Romero. Why would you…” Athos seemed to think better of whatever he was about to say and cut himself off. He stared at the fire for a long moment before continuing. “I let my frustration get the better of me, and for that I am sorry.”

“If you’re looking for forgiveness, I can’t give it to you.”

“I didn’t expect you to. I gather you still hate me?”

“Just as the mouse hates the cat. It’s in your nature to be what you are and do what you do. I hate what you are more than you yourself, but perhaps the two things are so entangled as to be indistinguishable.”

“Don’t you see what he’s done? Not even a little? He has poisoned your mind against me.”

“Of course  _ you _ would say that.”

“But Porthos said it too, didn’t he?”

_ You’re not right, you know you’re not… _

Aramis frowned and dropped his gaze to the fire. It was true. “I’m not right… I feel like a storm has swept through me and left everything a mess. I don’t know how to tell you, how to make you see, what I am now.”

“You are Aramis.”

“I might look like Aramis, but inside I am something else.” He shuddered in a breath, eyes wide in the firelight. “Inside I am filled with dirt and the deaths of other people. I’m drowning in it, every time I close my eyes I’m choking.”

Athos was quiet.

In the face of his silence Aramis continued. “It’s all right. I hate you, but perhaps you would hate me too if you knew what I was.”

“We are all killers here Aramis… We all have blood on our hands.”

“Not like this.”

“Maybe not, but whatever you’ve done, you’re not beyond redemption.”

“That is for God to decide, and his rules are quite clear on the matter.”

“Then we are all damned to hell, my friend.”

“I’m not your friend.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” Athos turned his attention to the fire again. His next words were spoken so quietly they were perhaps only meant for himself. “But I’m still yours.”

**~oOo~**

Athos didn’t ride so far ahead in the days that followed. When Aramis started drowning in his dreams he was woken before he fell too deeply. The three of them seemed to speak a little more freely and easily than they had before. But at the back of Aramis’ mind was a nagging need to see Romero, or remain loyal to him at the very least. Every inch Athos gained felt like a betrayal. It was easier to listen to Porthos, he wasn’t one of  _ them _ . Every inch Porthos gained seemed to loosen his attachment to Romero a little, but then out of the blue it would smother him. There was no rhyme or reason to it. When it rose Aramis just tried to clutch onto Porthos a little more tightly. 

The night was setting in as they passed an inn. Riding through the night would see them in Paris early the next day, but it was decided to rest the horses, as well as themselves. The only room left had a single large bed, Aramis and Athos took it while Porthos sat in a chair. He said he would keep watch and swap with Athos later on. Lying so close to Athos made Aramis’ skin prickle. It was something he tried to swallow down and ignore. He wasn’t right, and that was part of it. He needed to reject it. But it wasn’t so easy.

“If you’re not going to sleep, you can stare at the ceiling just as well from this chair.” Porthos noted wryly.

“I was just thinking…”

“About what?”

“I’m not right, and I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” The chair gave a creak as Porthos settled back into it. “When we’re back in Paris will you rejoin the regiment?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“You need something…”

“I don’t know if I belong there any more.”

“You will  _ always _ belong there.”

Aramis stared at the ceiling, but he could still feel Porthos’ eyes on him. “I’m not going to sleep, I’ll take the chair.”

Porthos hesitated for a moment before giving in. “Just a few hours, then you wake me.”

“Of course.” Aramis got up to swap places with Porthos, but instead of taking the chair he went to the window.

Clouds rushed past the moon creating uneven patches of light across the scenery. Tomorrow they would be back in Paris. Aramis felt like it was a lifetime ago he walked those streets. Was he ready to face those familiar places again? The garrison where they crossed swords, the palace where he had stood guard, where the Queen and the Dauphin... Aramis’ heart clenched at the thought of seeing them again. He couldn’t help but imagine what the child looked like now. The babe must have grown, he would be walking and talking. What had his first word been? Where had he tottered those first, faltering steps? Aramis closed his eyes and imagined the boy stumbling towards him with outstretched arms. He clenched his fist. It was something he could never have.    


In any case, he wasn’t fit to be around the child. He wasn’t fit to be a musketeer. Not like this. Not smothered in dirt. Aramis turned from the window and cast his eyes over his sleeping companions. A fleeting thought ran through his head. It would be so easy to kill them now. That’s what he was, that’s what Romero had made of him. A cold blooded killer. He was a killer before, that’s what soldiering was all about. But this was different. Now he killed the innocent, the inconvenient. If somebody was in the way a grave would solve the problem. Athos should have died. Romero would have wanted him dead. Aramis could kill him now. Porthos would have to die too of course, he was in the way like so many others had been.

But he found that he couldn’t do it. Even thinking about it brought him shame. And the shame gave him hope, maybe he could reject whatever this was inside him. Still, those thoughts had crossed his mind, he couldn’t pretend they weren’t there. 

Aramis went back to the window and turned his thoughts towards Paris again. He missed the city, he missed his home, but it didn’t feel like coming home. There was no coming home, not while he was like this. 

**~oOo~**

The city came into view, and Aramis lagged behind as the others urged their horses onward. Something in him wanted to turn and run, but he buried it deep and carried on. Athos and Porthos waited for him at the gate and all three entered Paris side by side. 

The city wasn’t as he remembered it. The streets seemed more grey, the people downtrodden, their eyes were haunted. Perhaps this was just how he saw the world now. Their eyes turned his way. So many eyes. They picked him apart. Why were they looking? They shouldn’t be looking!

“Aramis?” Porthos drew a little closer.

“Tell them to stop looking.” He grit out.

Aramis tried to control his breathing. 

“They don’t mean to.”

“There are too many.” He tensed up and his horse followed suit.

“Close your eyes, I’ll guide your horse.” Porthos gently took the reins from his hands. “Trust me. Just breathe and concentrate on your horse. Feel his footsteps beneath you. Feel the rhythm.”

One, two, three, four… Aramis focussed in on the horse. The gentle sway of his barrel from side to side. The slight rise and fall of his neck. The more Aramis relaxed the more his horse settled down. 

The voices of the crowd melted away. Aramis imagined himself far away, riding through a field. The grass was strewn with dandelion clocks and the air was thick with their seeds. The wind blew them far and wide. They gathered in hollows, like snow. The grass turned more white than green and Aramis’ breath seemed to catch in his throat. It was like snow, like…

He was shaken.

“Aramis? We’re here, we’re home.”

He opened his eyes and his heart near broke in two. It was as if he had never left. The table hadn’t moved an inch, the stairs up to the office still stood, and a boy tended the horses. It was a different boy and different horses, but the brushing of sweat soaked hair was exactly the same.

The three had hardly dismounted before Constance came rushing out to embrace them all.    


“You’re back! I knew you’d be back! Aramis! How did you… What are you… oh nevermind, you can tell me later, come inside, you must be tired.”

She led them through and fussed over them until they were sitting comfortably with food and drink aplenty. Only then did she sit down and ask the question that must have been burning her up since they first crossed the threshold. 

“Have you any word of d’Artagnan?” When a loved one was at war it was the sort of question you both needed and feared the answer to. “The message we received spoke of your coming and the regiment’s return, but he was not mentioned.”

Athos put his drink down to answer her. “It has been a long time since we last saw him, but Treville said the regiment’s engagements have gone well. He mentioned that d’Artagnan has conducted himself admirably. I am confident that he is well and will return with the others. You just have to be patient a little while longer.”

Constance gave a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness, I’ve been that worried for him. Every time letters come back naming the dead…”

Her words ceased, but Constance had no need to say any more.

Porthos reached out to cover her hand with his own. “We know. But he’s safe, he coming home. There’s no need to worry any longer.”

A small smile graced her face. “I’m so pleased to have you back. It just hasn’t been the same without you here.”   


“I hear you’ve been managing the garrison? Helping with the recruits?” Athos raised an eyebrow.

“And more besides. I’ve been busy here certainly. Well, somebody had to keep things running while you were away winning all of the glory.”

“I’ll look forwards to testing the mettle of these new cadets. I also hear things with the city do not fare too well?”

“No… War has its consequences, you can’t escape them, not even in Paris it seems. Refugees have flocked to the city. Supplies are scarce, and prices high, but the governor, Feron, seems intent on sowing discord rather than doing anything to help. His Red Guard are a law unto themselves.”

“What of the King?”

“Distracted with the Dauphin by all accounts. I do not visit the palace as much as I used to, but I hear he spends more time at play than in council meetings.”

Porthos downed the last of his drink. “Things will change now we’re back.”

“I hope so. I really do.” Constance settled her gaze on their third. “You’ve been quiet, Aramis. Are you all right?”

He tried for a smile. “Just tired from the road.”

“Oh, of course, I’ve had rooms made ready for you if you wish to retire. You’ll know where to find them.”

Porthos got to his feet. “I think I’ll join you.”

They left Constance and Athos deep in discussion and made their way to the garrison lodgings. Aramis gave Porthos a questioning look at being followed into his room.

“I’d just like to check you over.”

“If you must.” Aramis sighed.

He went to perch on the edge of the bed and reluctantly let Porthos help him off with his shirt.

“These wounds are looking better. Even though they haven’t been bandaged…”

“They didn’t need to be, Porthos.” 

“Yes, well, it couldn’t have hurt to keep them on.” He huffed. 

“They’re hardly wounds at all any more, they’re scars…” Aramis fell silent at the thought he was permanently marked from his captivity.

Porthos tried to make light of it. “Just a few more for the collection eh? The bruises are starting to fade at least.”

He was more yellow and green than black and blue now. He supposed it was something.

“How is your arm?”

“It aches.”

“I’ll need to find a physician and get more of that draught. There isn’t much left.”

“No need, I can bear it. I’m confident I’ll be able to do away with this splint soon.”

“If you’re sure?”

“I am.”

“We’ll have you back as good as new in no time at all.”

Aramis gave a sad smile. His body might be on the mend, but his mind still felt fractured.

“How does it feel? Being back here, I mean.” Porthos waved a hand at their surroundings.

Aramis cocked his head as he thought. “Like it’s a dream I might wake up from. But it can’t be a dream, it’s much too pleasant for that.”

He wasn’t gasping at the bottom of a grave for one.

“Does it change your mind?”

“About what?”

“Belonging.”

Aramis took in a deep breath, as if he could take in the garrison and make it part of himself again. It was a familiar air. So unlike the monastery. Powder and polish rather than dust and quiet. He wasn’t sure that quiet could taint the air, but it sure felt like it in those early hours spent on his knees in contemplation.    


“I don’t think so.”

“Stay a while, give it time.”

“For a while then.”

He would stay, only because he had nowhere else to go. But he didn’t belong, he was tainted in his own way, stained by the blood of the undeserving. It wasn’t what a musketeer was.

**~oOo~**

At first Aramis wouldn't leave the garrison. He was safe away from all of the prying eyes outside. Eventually Porthos coaxed him into the streets. The quiet ones were bearable. The busy ones less so. Still, the more he walked them the more comfortable he became. 

It was a grey morning on market day when Porthos took his latest walk with Aramis. The streets were even busier than usual with people gathering to trade wares. It was a day Aramis had managed to avoid until now, but Porthos seemed to think he was ready for it.

“Looks like rain.” Porthos grumbled as he frowned up at the gathering clouds.

“We could go back.”

“Course not, who’s afraid of a little damp?”

It wasn’t the damp that scared him. Aramis walked along at Porthos’ side trying to stride as confidently as he used to. It took all of his power not to shy away when people brushed by. They were close, too close. It made his skin crawl.

They turned a corner and Aramis’ heart quailed. “Where are we… Are we…” 

They were heading to the marketplace. That was where the road led.

“I thought we’d go to the market and pick a few things up for Constance.”

“Porthos…” He might as well have begged.  _ Please don’t make me go _ .

“You’ll be fine. I’m sure the rain will put some people off, I know the high prices do. Damn, here it comes.”

Sure enough it started spitting. Aramis pulled his hat down a little further, but he kept on walking.

The street widened and opened out into the marketplace. Stalls spread out before them, with traders shouting about their wares. Porthos gave Aramis a steadying look before walking on. People were everywhere. Some rushed about their business, others milled around as if they hadn’t anything better to do. Aramis felt all of their nonchalant glances as claw marks raking against his flesh. He moved closer to Porthos and desperately resisted the urge to reach for his friend.

His friend.  _ His friend _ . 

It struck him how casually Porthos had become a friend again, in the midst of all this turmoil. A stranger brushed by and Aramis instinctively grabbed at Porthos. 

“You’re all right. Just breathe. Come on, you’re doing so well.”

Porthos led him over to a stall and they paused to look at some wares. It was Porthos doing most of the looking as Aramis cast his gaze about the crowd. He kept breathing steadily and tried to let the panic wash over him rather than sweep him away. Aramis’ heart was crying out for contact with Porthos. There was something so steadying and settling about him. Instead of clutching desperately at his arm, Aramis put his fingers to Porthos’ elbow. That small touch was enough to ground him.

They continued around the stalls with Aramis lightly touching Porthos’ elbow whenever he felt the panic rise. Eventually the rain started to come down a little harder and the two of them decided to call it a day. Aramis was elated that he had actually managed to walk around the marketplace without too much trouble. But just as they were about to leave raised voices grabbed their attention.

“The Red Guard.” Porthos growled under his breath.

Across the way swords were drawn and pistols aimed. A couple of men were remonstrating with the guards. The cause of the argument couldn’t be discerned, but more were gathering, and the potential for the confrontation to spiral out of control was plain to see.

“Stay here, I’ll see if I can sort this out.”

And with Porthos gone, Aramis suddenly felt adrift in the ocean. He clenched his fists and tried to beat down the rising panic. But the shouting was getting louder and more people were gathering, everything was rising in a crescendo that Aramis couldn’t keep at bay. With the crack of a pistol firing the dam broke and Aramis shot off. Everything in him screamed  _ run _ . 

He fled. Against the panic a tide of shame caught him, but still he ran. He wanted to see if Porthos was all right, but he kept running. He couldn’t stop. The rain was pelting down and his steps became unsteady on the wet ground. Aramis’ breath hammered in and out, his heart beat as frantically as a bird about to take flight. And then he turned a corner, slipped, and crashed to the ground. He lay there, spread eagled, trying to get himself under control. 

Against his rebelling body there was another thought.

Porthos might be dead.

_ Porthos might be dead _ .

And he was lying in the dirt losing his mind. 

Aramis tried to push himself up, but his weakened arm collapsed under him. It throbbed intensely having taken the brunt of his impact with the ground. He rolled over and clutched it to his chest, managing to sit up a little more delicately. Only then did he look up and realise he had fallen at the bottom of some steps. His eyes traced the path upwards to find the great stone structure of a church. It loomed over him, intimidating in the gloom, though its doors stood open as if in welcome. Like God Himself, standing in judgement, but ready to receive the penitent with open arms. 

Aramis managed to get to his feet and lurch towards the stairs. He took them carefully and hesitated briefly before crossing the threshold. For a moment he stood still, dripping on the flagstones, taking in the vast space before him. At the front a couple of women sat in a pew, but other than that the place was deserted. There was a silence so complete it seemed a sin to break it. The only sound came from outside with the relentless rain beating down at Aramis’ back, and then there were his own heavy breaths. He had no wish to break the calm with echoing footsteps, so still clutching at his arm Aramis slipped into the nearest pew. He reverently took off his hat and bowed his head.

The prayers began then. So familiar. The words tumbled from Aramis’ lips as if he had never ceased to be a monk. As he went on he almost seemed to feel lighter. The burdens that had grown until they broke him started to slip away. The cracks along his back and through his heart felt for a moment as if they were beginning to close. Aramis paused in his prayers and wiped at his cheeks. He wasn’t sure if it was droplets of rain against his skin or something else. Tears had ceased to come long ago. He had only shed them during that shining moment when his pain was taken away. Was it happening again? Perhaps it was the pain of his soul seeping away. Though the memory of life before all of  _ this _ was a fragile hazy thing, perhaps more dream than reality. The pain was real and all consuming, Aramis felt it would never leave entirely, he was marked by it now. 

In the depths of the darkness he had wished for death, but now in quiet contemplation he realised what he actually wanted. It wasn’t death. It was the need to live. When he had nothing and nobody, and his sins smothered all else, Aramis wished for a brief moment to feel that spark, that desire to stay alive. When he fought alongside his brothers so long ago it fuelled him. That hunger for life. To take whatever was coming with both hands and treasure it. In a dank cell there was nothing. Everything vanished away, every hope he ever had, gone. 

There was still nothing when he looked ahead. Nothing, except for his friend.

_ I’ll be there, even if there’s nothing else. _

Porthos. He should go back to help Porthos. He had run away like a coward and left his friend to face goodness knows what. For a moment Aramis’ fear slipped away, along with everything else. 

He was about to get to his feet when a quiet voice reached him.

“I thought I might find you in here.”

_ Porthos. _

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“I ran away. I left you.”

“I’m fine, and I don’t blame you.” Porthos stepped forwards and steadied Aramis when he got to his feet.

After seeing his friend in one piece the relief lent Aramis a smile. “I was coming back.”

“Well, the rescue’s a little late. I resolved this the old fashioned way.”   
  
“With your fists?”

“With my words.” Porthos grinned. “What happened to you anyway? You’re filthy.”

“I might have… fallen over.” Aramis spoke sheepishly.

He expected a ribbing, but Porthos’ smile dimmed and concern took his eyes. “Are you all right?”

“Landed on my arm, but no damage done.”

Aramis hissed as Porthos went to take it.

“Sounds like it.” 

“Honestly, it’s just sore.”

“Let’s get back so I can have a proper look. This isn’t exactly the place for it.”    


Aramis took one last look around the church, from the soaring high rafters to the endless flagstones. He took in a breath and savoured the silence. And then he turned back into the street, braving the pouring rain once again.

**~oOo~**

Back at the garrison Aramis had changed into some dry clothes and begrudgingly let Porthos check his arm.

“Nothing worse than a bit of bruising.” Porthos released the limb back to its owner and went to pour them a drink.

“Satisfied now?”

“I will be if you take a bit more care. But then you never do.”

“It was wet, I slipped.” Aramis took the offered wine with a smile.

“It’s all that time as a monk. It’s dulled your reflexes.”

“I’m sure I can still shoot faster than you.”

“Right, you’re on, we’ll test it out.” 

A companionable silence stretched between them as they both took a drink and basked in the return of their cameraderie. 

“You did well today.” Porthos spoke quietly, but warmly.

“Yes, running away from trouble is always so helpful.” There was an edge of bitterness to Aramis’ words.

“Well, as you said, you were coming back. But I meant before, walking around the marketplace. You did well.”

“Oh how far I have fallen if a stroll around the market seems such a challenge.”

“Don’t talk like that. You’ve been through something terrible. It’s bound to knock you off your feet, and it takes time to build yourself back up again. It was the same after Savoy. You know you can do it.”

“Yes, well… let’s not dredge up the past.” The time after Savoy was the last thing he wanted to be thinking about right now.

“Will you talk to Athos?”

“I’m sure I can manage a pleasant enough conversation about the weather.”

“You know what I mean. I think it’s time, I think it will help. If you want to get your head straight again you have confront whatever this is with Athos.”

They had chipped away at it. Over time Athos had seemed to creep closer and closer, but Romero still loomed large at the back of Aramis’ mind. The Spaniard’s hold loosened when he was with Porthos, Aramis had quite forgotten about him at times. But Romero’s instinctive hatred reared up around Athos. 

“Very well. Later, bring him up later.”

**~oOo~**

Later came and found the three of them sitting in Aramis’ room with a bottle of wine between them.

Aramis took a long sip before starting.

“I want to get better.” He paused and looked at Athos, feeling a sense of betrayal starting to stir. “I want to go back to how we were before.”

“As do I.”

“I hope it will start here. Even now I feel like I’m letting Romero down, but I am  _ trying _ to push it aside.”

“I understand it is hard for you.”

“He just… I…” Aramis paused, frustrated at trying to make sense of things that didn’t make sense.

Porthos leaned forwards to put his hand to Aramis’ shoulder. “Take your time.”

Aramis took in a deep breath. “I don’t know how to explain it. Everything he said and did made sense to me. In many ways it still does. And I can’t stop feeling that I deserved what he did.”

Athos caught his eyes and spoke emphatically. “You did not deserve any of it.”

“And yet, somehow, he made me think that I did. Just as he made me hate you. I know that I shouldn’t, the rational part of my mind  _ knows _ you are not my enemy, but there’s something in here…” Aramis put his fist to his heart. “... that tells me it is so.”

“It will fade. It will grow weaker if you keep fighting against it.”

“I hope you are right, because I am fighting so hard, Athos. I barely have the strength for anything else. When I sit across from you now, know that every breath is a battle.”

“And you will prevail. I have every confidence in you.” Athos paused to share a look with Porthos. “Aramis... I would like you to rejoin the regiment.”   


Aramis shook his head. “I can’t.”

“I know you feel like you don’t belong, but you do. You are a musketeer, Aramis. You will always be a musketeer.”

“I’m not fit to be a musketeer. You don’t know what I’ve done.” He had held back for so long, but now was the time for confessions it seemed.

“We know enough.” Porthos spoke softly.

“No, if you knew all of it you wouldn’t want me near you.” There was no going back now.

“What do you mean?” Athos frowned.

“I’ve killed innocents, civilians, people who were just…” He sighed. “They were in the way. First it was an innkeeper. He came at me with a sword you see, I had to defend myself. And then it was the boy… the one who saw me. The one I should have killed and couldn’t. I still killed him in the end, when he came back with more men.”

Aramis paused to take a deep breath and drag a hand through his hair before continuing. “Romero wanted a place for me in the armoury, and then a promotion. So he arranged murders, and I went along with it all. Something in me knew it was wrong, but I couldn’t say no to him. Letting him down would be worse. It was my hand doing the stabbing, my hand giving the poison. And afterwards, I dug the grave. It was cold blooded murder. The sort that would see you hang. Of course, then came the explosion. The one that should have killed you, Athos.”

He looked at Athos and Porthos, expecting to see disgust on their faces. He only saw sorrow. “ So you see now why I can’t be a musketeer. I’m a monster... I will understand if you want me to leave.”

“This is all Romero’s doing. You’re no murderer, Aramis. There is  _ nothing _ monstrous about you. It might have been your hand, but it was his will. This changes nothing. You can still be a musketeer.”

“Not with this blood on my hands.” Aramis downed the last of his drink. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I’d like to go to sleep.”

“Aramis…” Athos got to his feet.

“Please, I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

“Would you like me to stay?” Porthos asked.

“No, not tonight.”

He deserved the nightmares he knew were coming.


	17. Chapter 17

“Rendición!” 

He held his pistol out and yelled at the man to surrender. 

It was his fault. They were all dead and it was his fault. 

The intruder held his hands aloft.

“Aramis, it’s me. Put the gun down.”

“You killed them!”

“Put. It. Down.”

Suddenly reality snapped back. He was lying in bed, surrounded by damp sheets, not bodies. The man at the end of his pistol was no murderer, it was Athos. He stood at the threshold, hands raised. He looked torn between running to Aramis and running away.

Aramis let the breath rush out of him all at once and the gun dropped to his lap. He seemed to fold in on himself. The pistol was being gently removed from his hand a moment later. Aramis used his free hand to wipe his face clean of tears. 

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have disturbed you.” Athos placed the pistol on a table across the room, then he turned back to Aramis. “I just… I heard, and… I couldn’t leave you.”

“You should have left me. This is the least I deserve.”

Aramis detected a note of irritation before Athos smoothed over it and came to sit by the bed. 

“But that wasn’t anything recent. That was familiar. I’ve woken you from enough Savoy nightmares to know the difference.” Athos leaned over to kindle a candle at the bedside table before settling his piercing gaze back on Aramis. “You didn’t deserve Savoy.”

“I deserve whatever nightmares my mind chooses to torture me with. And that is a tried and tested one.” Aramis paused and Athos looked away. “It’s always here. Always. I’ll never be rid of it.”

The walls of a distant prison cell seemed to close in about them at those words. 

“Sometimes they’re not dead. Sometimes.... I… I save them.” Aramis held himself tightly against an imagined cold. “And I don’t know which is worse. To have them all back, to feel the joy, the relief. It is so real, Athos. I can touch them and they feel as solid as you do now.”

Aramis reached out a hand and gripped it tight about Athos’ arm. Athos put his own hand over Aramis’ and met his eyes with grief. 

“I have them back. We talk, we laugh. There is no other world but that in which they are alive. I forget this place. I grow accustomed to their presence. And then I wake, and it is all snatched away from me in an instant.” Aramis paused a moment as he recalled the crushing weight of reality. “At least when I see their frozen bodies in the snow waking is a sweet relief.”

He had no need to speak of the cold world he woke to when he left them alive. It was like mourning them all over again. Aramis was sure Athos was intimately acquainted with the feeling - When dreams are a warm deluded comfort and reality is a hole in the chest that can’t be filled. Alcohol was an escape. Sometimes the people you lost returned to you through a drunken haze. Yes, Athos knew what it was to wake, only to wish you could crawl back to sleep in the earth, never to wake again. 

The quiet stretched between them. 

Athos soft voice broke it. “You don’t deserve this, Aramis. I wish you could see... you don’t deserve any of this.”

Aramis didn’t answer. The quiet returned, at least for a moment.

“I wish you would rejoin the regiment as well. It will help you, give you direction, a purpose-”

“I will not return. Do not ask me to.” Aramis interrupted with a shuddered voice, as if hindered by threatened tears.

“Very well. I will let you get back to sleep.” Athos quietly got to his feet, snuffed out the candle and returned to his own room.

Aramis watched the door long after it had closed. Sleep would not visit him again that night.

**~oOo~**

Something approaching normality returned in the days and weeks that followed. The three of them even started going back to the inn they used to frequent in days gone by. Although getting back to normality was not so easy. Aramis suspected it was all an effort to slip him back into his old life. Indeed, Athos and Porthos continued to propose a commission to Aramis and he continued to rebuff it. The cloud over his head darkened in those moments. There seemed to be nothing that would bring him back to the fold. 

News came that the regiment would return within the week, and preparations ramped up. Athos and Porthos were busy, particularly the former. The pressure was starting to build, and it made Athos a little bad tempered. In contrast, not being a musketeer Aramis seemed a step apart from it all. He stayed at the garrison and watched the training, but refused to take any part in it.

It all came to a head one day when the recruits were sparring. Aramis watched from his usual spot at the table. Athos came marching down the stairs and threw Aramis’ old pauldron down at his feet.

“Put the damn thing on.”

Momentarily shocked at seeing his once treasured pauldron, Aramis recovered and got to his feet. “No.”

Athos retrieved the pauldron and pushed it into Aramis’ chest, though he refused to take it. 

“I said - put it on.”

“I can’t.”

“You can! There is nothing stopping you, only you yourself!”

“That’s because I know what I’ve done.” Aramis growled. “As do you.”

“And I don’t care what you’ve done! I need you!” 

Silence reigned as the sparring stopped and everyone watched the confrontation.

Aramis stood with his mouth open, not knowing what to say.

“I need you, Aramis. Please... take it.”

That’s when Porthos emerged. “All right everybody, get back to it! Or we’ll be doing hand to hand and I won’t be so gentle.”

Noise erupted around them again as Aramis’ hand slowly creeped up to the pauldron being pressed into his chest. When his fingers wrapped around it Athos let go and stepped away, breathing heavily. 

Aramis looked down at the scored piece of leather bearing the fleur de lis. It had meant so much to him all those years ago, and now holding it again he realised it still did.

“You kept it… After all this time.”

“I think some part of me always hoped you would come back.” Athos’ wistful voice turned serious. “Aramis, you can redeem yourself. The dead can’t be returned to life, but you  _ can  _ turn your hands to doing good again.” Athos took his shoulder and shook it. “Protect the innocent. Redeem yourself.”

Aramis looked up from his pauldron to find Porthos and Athos staring at him so hopefully.

“Will you take the commission?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I will.”

**~oOo~**

With the pauldron back on his arm Aramis threw himself into training the recruits. The regiment returned a few days later and there were emotional reunions all around. Most notably between d’Artagnan and Constance. However there wasn’t much time to celebrate with so much work to be done in the city. Patrols were drawn up and guard duty at the palace had to be rostered. With the musketeers out on the streets again all were hopeful things might start to turn around.

Aramis spent most of his time between patrolling and drilling recruits. He noticed he was kept away from the palace. It was probably for the best. Seeing the Queen and the Dauphin again would be more than his heart could take. Still, what kind of a musketeer was he if he couldn’t stand by the royalty he was sworn to protect? In any case, he was just finding his feet again. He didn’t want to be knocked off them quite so soon. That was an issue for another day.

Aramis settled into something of a routine, training and doing his duty, then visiting church and finally retiring to the inn with his brothers. And he had started thinking of them as brothers again. d’Artagnan’s return brought some much needed levity to the group. Though war had burdened him as it did so many others, he retained some of that youthful joy. Being reunited with Constance no doubt helped. Everything was going so well now, Romero almost seemed a distant memory.

They were going to the inn one night when Aramis spotted the stable boy with a familiar looking horse. It was black with a distinctive flash of white… The name came to him. Hawthorn. He followed the others inside and sat while they ordered drinks. All the while his mind turned over where he had last seen the horse. And then it hit him.  _ He had last seen it with Romero _ . A sick feeling took Aramis then. Romero couldn’t be here. Perhaps he was seeing things, perhaps he had imagined it. His mind no longer played such tricks on him, but maybe this was one last breath of insanity. Or perhaps it simply wasn’t Hawthorn. It was entirely possible that there was another horse just like him. 

Aramis held on, desperately trying to resist the impulse to rush outside and check. He couldn’t let this take over again. He couldn’t let the dark corners of his mind take control. But he was seized with such a need to know. He didn’t pay any attention to the conversation going on around him, all thought was on his old horse. Aramis got halfway through his drink before making his excuses and dashing out to the stables. Breathing heavily he came to a halt. There was a black horse in the end stall. He still checked the others as he went along, just in case, and then he arrived at the end.

“Hawthorn?”

The horse was eating at a bale of hay and paid no attention to him at all. Aramis crept closer and leaned over the door. He stretched a hand out to pat the horse as he looked it over. His breath left him all at once. It wasn’t Hawthorn. There was no flash of white.

But he had been so sure he had seen it. Maybe it was a trick of the light, the flickering torches… Maybe he was seeing things. Or maybe the horse had been here and it had left.

Aramis waved over at the stable boy. “Was there another black horse here?”

“Yes Monsieur, they left just before you got here.”

His heart stalled. 

“The man who rode it, what did he look like?”

“Not a man, Monsieur. It was a woman.”

Relief flooded through him. Not Romero then. It couldn’t have been Hawthorn, he must have been mistaken.

Aramis returned to the inn and his brothers, and tried to forget about the Spaniard once again.

**~oOo~**

“Aramis, I need you on guard duty at the palace. Accambray has fallen ill.”

“Can’t you send somebody else?” Aramis was in the middle of eating, but more importantly he wasn’t sure he was ready for this.

“There is nobody else.” There almost seemed to be an apology in Athos’ eyes.

“Are you sure?” 

“I wouldn’t be asking if I wasn’t sure.”

Or if he had another choice. Athos had always done his utmost to keep Aramis away from the Queen and Dauphin, he supposed this wasn’t a sudden change of heart.

And that was how Aramis came to be striding towards the palace gardens, his heart in his mouth. He spotted d’Artagnan ahead, standing at the top of the steps. It offered a good view of the royals. Down below the King played with his son on the grass, while the Queen walked with her ladies. Aramis’ heart briefly lurched at thinking of the  _ King’s _ son. He knew it wasn’t so, and yet it had to be so.

“I’m surprised to see you here.” d’Artagnan raised an eyebrow.

“As am I to be here. But Athos had nobody else to send, and so…” Aramis gestured at himself. 

“Well, feel free to patrol the perimeter if you need to. I’ve got things in hand up here.”

He was offering Aramis the chance to escape, but Aramis found that he didn’t want to now he was here. 

“In a moment perhaps.” 

He turned his eyes to the garden. They were so close. The woman he loved, and the child he could never claim. The boy had grown since Aramis last saw him, oh how the years seemed to have flown by. It nearly hurt. The way the Queen glanced his way and then seemed to pretend she hadn’t seen him _ did _ hurt. But there was little time to dwell on pain when the Dauphin’s screech of laughter reached them. He was playing at fencing on the lawn. It made Aramis’ breath catch in his throat. What he would give to be the one down there playing with him… There was such happiness here. Aramis felt as if he were intruding. His own presence was a black cloud, a reminder of darker times for all of them. 

He swallowed heavily. “I think I’ll do that patrol now.”

d’Artagnan gave him a nod, sympathy all too clear in his eyes.

Aramis hastily made his way to the edge of the gardens. Although the hedges hid the Dauphin from view his laughter still cut through the undergrowth, straight to Aramis’ heart. He walked further, trying to put more distance between them. His heart ached and tears pricked at his eyes. Maybe it was a mistake to become a musketeer again, maybe he should-

Aramis turned a corner and there she stood. The Queen.

“My apologies Your Majesty, I didn’t mean…”

He didn’t mean to intrude, but perhaps it was her who meant to do the intruding. Her ladies were absent, most likely dismissed, and d’Artagnan hadn’t come after her. He probably guessed what she was intending to do.

“You came back.” She looked stunned and perhaps a little wary, perhaps a little hopeful.

“Yes, Majesty.” He wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Were they talking as Queen and musketeer, or as Anne and Aramis?

“I thought I would never see you again.” She raised a hand as if to reach out to him, but let it drop, thinking better of it.

“You seem… happy. Your family…” Aramis was usually so eloquent, but words were failing him terribly.

She gave him a sad smile. “Yes, we are.”

But everything about her screamed that it wasn’t so. Out there the mask was in place, but here she let it slip.

Aramis wanted nothing more than to sweep her up in his arms and take her away. Somewhere far far away where nobody knew them and they could live a simple life. But nothing was ever destined to be simple for them. 

“I know my presence might be difficult for you… for them. If you want me to stay away, please, just say the word.” It was probably better to address the issue straight on.

She looked conflicted. As if she knew it was better for him to stay away, but it was the last thing she really wanted. A similar war had been waged between Aramis’ heart and head. But it was for her to decide. She was the Queen and any difficulties arising would hit her hardest.

“You are a musketeer. Do your duty, as you always have done.”

“As you wish, Majesty.” He gave his usual slight bow. Enough to be respectful, but one where he could still catch her eyes.

The Dauphin’s distant voice called out for his mother, but she remained standing, staring at Aramis as if he were the last light in a world of darkness. She was so afraid it might go out.

And he knew what it was to feel that way.

“You should go.” He broke the spell between them. But she didn’t move. “Let me escort you back.”

Aramis made to walk past her, but Anne caught his hand as he went by. Her gentle fingers closed around his hand and his breath stalled.

They walked together, fingers entwined delicately. For a moment Aramis could pretend they were somewhere else, and they were someone else. Just lovers, like any other, playing out amongst the trees, revelling at a tryst in their secret garden.

But this was the palace garden. And it was the Queen’s hand he held.

Treason.

_ Chains, a cell, the wheel… Marguerite _ .

He let go. 

They reached the edge of the concealing hedges.

“I should return by another route, Majesty.” He bowed again and turned to leave.

“Aramis?”

He looked back at hearing his name.

“I’ve missed you.”

And his heart broke.

**~oOo~**

Once they were relieved from guard duty Aramis told d’Artagnan he would join them at the inn later. He made his way to the church he had taken refuge in the day he visited the market with Porthos. It had played a great part in healing him. He would often sit in quiet contemplation, sorting through his thoughts, defying malign whispers, and placing his emotions. Here he felt that God was with him, and His hand guided him. God was always there of course, but he seemed so very far away in the darkest places when all Aramis could hear was the voice of every tortured soul he had done wrong.

He heard one of them now. Marguerite. 

Aramis slipped into his usual pew at the back and clasped his hands in prayer for her. The torture he endured now was nothing, for at least he still drew breath. She had taken her own life, and it was all down to him. He should have left her alone, he should have stayed away.

But like a moth to a flame he was drawn to the Queen and his son. No. Not his son.  _ The Dauphin _ . It was happening again. He didn’t want this. He knew it would happen if he saw them again. But God, how he wanted this. He needed to be near them, to see them, to touch them… Aramis closed his eyes and recalled the feel of her fingers against his own. He took it in and locked it away. Something to remember in darker days. But he knew he should be rejecting it all. Athos would be raking him over coals if he knew what had just passed. 

It was a yearning of the heart that was beyond his control. But with the grace of God he tried to control it.

More people filtered into the church. Their overly loud voices would have earned a harsh look from Aramis, but he was so intent on his prayer he barely noticed them enter. 

He prayed for Marguerite, for the Queen and Dauphin. Then for himself to be granted the strength to defy his own nature.

Aramis raised his head after a final ‘amen’ and then he flinched as he felt a hand land heavily on his shoulder.

“So you are a musketeer again.”

That voice. It couldn’t be… He turned around and his senses nearly took flight.

_ Romero _ .

“What are you doing here?”

“Keep your voice down, we are in church, my friend.”

“How are you here?” Aramis tried to keep the panic from his voice. Everything in him was screaming  _ run _ .

“I have my ways, you know this. Besides, there are plenty of refugees pouring into Paris. What is one more? I sold your horse for a good price and set myself up here. Although I have to say the city is not what I imagined it to be. A little less fine for sure, but that is what war does to places and men it seems.”

“You can’t be here.” Aramis was still stunned.

“And yet I am. Once I saw to your freedom it was easy enough to follow at a distance. All it took was the right questions to the right people, and a little more besides.” Romero gave him a meaningful smile. 

“You freed me?”

“Yes, Brother Lussier was most distraught when I told him you were due to hang. I suggested he might want to intervene.”

“What happened to him?”

“That I cannot say. Anyway, you did well in Foix, my friend. It is a pity the Minister and Captain escaped unscathed, but we can correct this. In any case, you are well placed to do more damage than any explosion.”

“What do you mean?” Aramis felt like his mind was stuck on the fact Romero was here. He should call for help, he should find Athos, he should…

“Come with me.” 

Romero took a tight grip on Aramis’ arm and dragged him to a discreet corner away in the church aisle.

“You are a musketeer. You guard the King. It would only take one shot…”

“But I would be killed.” Aramis couldn’t believe he was entertaining this with a rational response.

“Poison then. There are many ways to end the monarchy.”

“I can’t…  _ I can’t _ .”

“Aramis, don’t let me down.” 

The words were spoken just as they were before. Aramis bodily flinched at them. With those words he felt as if he had just climbed out of a pit only to be thrown back in. His mind went to war against itself.

Romero was his friend. 

It didn’t make sense, he shouldn’t even be...

He couldn’t let Romero down.

“My son… he would take over. The monarchy wouldn’t end.”

Why was he actually contemplating this?

_ He couldn’t let Romero down _ .

“No, a regent would take over, and we could arrange a kidnapping. We could get your son far away from here, where nobody knows him, or you.”

“It would never work, there are too many against us.”

A hand landed heavily on his shoulder. “Have faith, my friend. I have met a man by the name of Grimaud, he is of a similar mind to you and I. He can raise an army. We shall kill the King, take the Dauphin, and they will move in. I need to talk to Grimaud further, but once the city is ours we will have a chance to truly change things.”

“The musketeers will stop you.”

“The Red Guard will fight with us, there are not enough musketeers to take us all on. Especially if you can do some damage at the garrison.”

“And what of the Queen?”

“I do not see why she could not join you. We could arrange a new life for all three of you. Wouldn’t you like that, Aramis? To live as a family and raise your son together?”

He was quiet for a moment. It was all he had ever wanted.

“I would.”

“Good, now carry on as you were. Tell no one of our meeting. I will find you again.”

He made to leave. Heart and head in turmoil.

“Aramis?”

He looked back as he had done earlier, but this time it wasn’t the Queen calling his name.

“You won’t let me down, will you?”

“Never.”

**~oOo~**

After leaving the church, Aramis made his way to the inn. He felt like being sick. Romero was here. He should tell the others. But he didn’t want to let his friend down. And he _ knew  _ he should fight against that thought. He had so much practice battling against it, but now the man himself was here, speaking those words. Aramis was overwhelmed. 

On arriving at the inn Aramis briefly said his greetings and sat down with the others.

Porthos frowned across the table at him. “Are you all right? You look pale. Not coming down with Accambray’s sickness are you?”

“I’m fine.” 

“If you’re sure, but I know what you’re like. You’re always fine, until the moment I’m picking you up off the ground.”

“I am well, I assure you.”

But Aramis spent the evening worrying at his cup rather than drinking from it. The others talked around him, while he stared at the table or the middle distance. His thoughts were miles away, with Romero. He didn’t want to let his friend down, and there was the possibility of a new life with his family. Thinking of the Queen and the Dauphin as his family made his heart ache with yearning. But it would mean more bloodshed, more treason, more killing of his people, his  _ brothers _ … They were his brothers again. He should fight against this, he should tell them about Romero.

“There’s something…” He took a breath and forced the words out. “I have to tell you something.” 

The others stopped talking and turned to him. 

_ You won’t let me down, will you? _

Aramis’ mouth hung open. Suddenly the words wouldn’t come.

“I’m… I’m feeling a little tired, I think I’ll retire for the night.”

He got to his feet and hurried away.

Behind him Porthos’ voice could be heard. “I knew he wasn’t well.”

**~oOo~**

He was in church, praying. 

Reformed and reborn. 

God helped him to loosen the hold of the demons pulling him down. With their clawed fingers pried away Aramis almost believed the atrocious deeds were somebody else’s.

But then he was pulled backwards. 

And it was tight around his neck. The noose.

His legs were dangling. Kicking. 

He tried to drag a breath in, but his lungs spasmed, painfully empty.

And they watched. 

He realised then that it wasn’t rope around his neck. 

It was a halo. Pulled down from his own head. 

Pulled down. Around his neck. 

It pulled him down to the ground. 

And they watched as he choked. They stood around with their dead eyes, watching. 

If only he could speak he might find something to say. There might be words that would make amends. But nothing passed his lips. Only strangled sounds and bloodied spittle as he struggled.

He was dragged backwards and the ground gave way. 

He was here again. In his grave. 

They gathered round, up above, staring down. 

They gathered round, and a single rose was thrown down. It landed squarely on his chest.

He couldn’t see who had thrown it.  _ Marguerite? _ His eyes were watering, blinking away the dirt that was falling in.

It was Athos’ distant voice that spoke.

“You’ll never be clean.”

And then his mouth was stopped up by mud.

Aramis startled awake when a sharp sting graced his cheek.

“You’re all right, just breathe.”

He was on the floor, in Porthos’ arms. 

“You can breathe, there’s enough air. You can breathe, just slow down.”

But he couldn’t seem to stop the frantic gasping. He could still feel dirt at the back of his throat. 

More hands landed on him. “Turn him over, he’s going to-”

Aramis gagged and retched. A line of spittle and worse trailed from his lips to the floor. 

And then he was lying back in Porthos’ arms. A heavy hand landed on his chest, and his breaths seemed to slow down. He hadn’t the energy to keep up with his lung’s frantic pace. 

“That’s it, you can breathe.”

He blinked and waited for his heart to settle.

“There you are. It’s been a while since that’s happened. Are you all right?” Porthos sat Aramis upright and propped him against the bed.

Aramis stared at his outstretched legs for a moment, then his eyes landed on Athos with a basin of water, scrubbing at the floor.

“Aramis? What are you-?”

The next thing he knew he was scrambling forwards towards the basin. He thrust his hands in and splashed the water up his arms. Aramis started to furiously scrub at his skin. 

“Not clean.” He grit out. “I’ll never be clean.”

Nails scored red lines across his flesh.

“Aramis, stop.” Athos grabbed his arms firmly and caught his eyes. “You’re clean.”

Aramis shook his head.

“Listen to me. You are clean. It’s all washed away, there’s nothing left. You’re clean.”

He frowned at Athos, so unsure. And then Porthos was pulling him to his feet.

“Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

**~oOo~**

The next morning Aramis woke and went down to the join the others eating at the table. 

Porthos pushed a plate towards him. “So, last night… what was that?”

Aramis rubbed at his eyes and fought off a yawn. “Just the usual.”

“Well, the usual seemed to be dying away didn’t it?”

“Nightmares can always return. You know that. I’ve woken screaming about Savoy years after the massacre happened.”

“But there was usually something to set it off. Has something happened?”

Aramis looked down and started to pick at his food.

“Aramis?”

“No. Nothing.”


	18. Chapter 18

Romero found Aramis in the church again. Part of him hoped that it had been a dream, and Romero was nothing more than a product of his vivid nightmares. But he took his seat, finished his prayers, and felt a hand on his shoulder. It became a regular occurrence, and the house of God became something else. No sanctuary, no salvation. It was a cage. And he kept returning to it, like a songbird too used to its captivity. No doubt if he eschewed the church Romero would find him somewhere else. There was no escape.

And then there was that nagging voice at the back of his head - He didn’t want to let Romero down.

Instead of lurking in the shadows of the church aisle, Romero led Aramis outside for their latest meeting. He was taken down side streets, and darkened alleyways until he had quite lost any sense of where he was. Eventually they arrived at a small unassuming house. Romero offered him a seat. The room was quite bare and showed all the signs of neglect. Aramis guessed the place had been abandoned until quite recently. 

The windows were all covered, so Romero lit a single candle to place between them on the table. The hairs on the back of Aramis’ neck prickled. He had the strange sense that there were more eyes on him than just Romero’s.

“So it is time for talk to turn more serious.” Romero smiled and leaned across the table. “Grimaud has everything in hand at his end. Now it is time to put things in place at your end. I propose dispatching the King first. If we start an attack he is likely to be placed under more protection, which will make your job that much harder. Since you are the one close to the King at the palace I will let you decide how best to kill him. I can provide anything you need for the task, whether it be poison, weaponry, or something else. Just let me know. Have you any thoughts?”

“A shot would be too loud, but a knife might work. The timing would have to be exact. I would need to attack when he was alone, perhaps in his room, at night. That’s if I can dismiss his guards. Even if I was one stationed to watch him, there would be another. Perhaps poison… it is more indirect, but then its administration is not so straightforward. I have little contact with his food - it is always attended, being brought straight from the kitchen to his table - but I might be able to access his medicines. Let me think on it.”

And a voice inside him screamed…  _ Why are you thinking on how to kill the King?! _

It was madness. 

But with Romero’s next words it made sense.

“Very well, I will leave it in your hands. As soon as the King dies, all eyes will turn to the Dauphin. You need to get to him first. I will arrange to have a carriage placed nearby, take the Queen and Dauphin to it. They will be taken to safety. Then I need you to-”

“I want to go with them.” Aramis interrupted.

“My friend, your work is not yet finished. I need you to return to the garrison and destroy it. I assume your store of powder is sufficient for the task?”

“You have others at your disposal, any man can set off powder.”

“But not just any man can walk through the garrison gate unhindered. I need you to do this. Do not worry. I have good, trustworthy men to escort the Queen and Dauphin.”

“I go with them, or this doesn’t happen.” Aramis was adamant. 

If he refused to kill the King, everything fell down.

Romero sat back with a long sigh. “Imagine that you do. The carriage leaves with you in it, but this other man that I send to the garrison in your place is stopped and detained. The musketeers all live, and they have all of their weaponry and horses to use. They oppose us and hunt you down. Everything fails.” Romero leaned forwards again, a predatory look in his eye. “Then you will be hung while the Queen watches, and some other power hungry Lord will get their claws into the Dauphin.”

He paused and Aramis felt Romero’s eyes boring into him. Aramis made no reply, he swallowed heavily and looked down at the table top.

“You have been apart from them for so long already. What is a little while longer?”

Still Aramis remained quiet.

“I need you, Aramis. I’m relying on you.”

He dredged the words from deep in his throat. “Very well.”

**~oOo~**

As soon as Romero led Aramis back to a more familiar area of Paris, he made his way to the garrison and down to the room where they kept the powder.

Their supplies were not as great as they once were, but the powder had been restocked bit by bit. More was surely on its way. Aramis wasn’t sure if this would be enough, but with another delivery or two it may well be. 

He stood absently staring at the barrels. His mind ran around and around…

_ Why are you doing this? _

_ Why are you doing this? _

_ Why are you doing this? _

_ For them.     
_

For a new life.

But it meant more blood and dirt. He would never be clean. 

Maybe he could pretend that he was. If he was away from here, with his family. He wouldn’t have to look down at his dirty hands, he could look up at their smiling faces. Eventually he might forget the stains were there.

One more time. One last treasonous act, and then he would be free. He could be with his family.

And he didn’t want to let Romero down.

“Aramis?”

He flinched as he felt his arm shaken. Athos was standing there, when had he arrived?

“Aramis? Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“You were miles away, is something wrong?”

_ Everything is wrong. What I’m about to do... _

There was a moment when Aramis wanted to let it all out. He wanted to open the floodgates and tell Athos everything. He swallowed the urge down as the memory of Anne’s fingers wrapped around his hand arose unbidden.

“I’m fine.” He repeated a little more strongly.

“If you insist…” Athos looked anything but convinced. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. What are you doing down here?” 

“I… I wanted to check how much we had.” Aramis waved his hand at the powder. “Are we due any more deliveries?”

“I believe there’s some more on its way. You’re not planning on doing  _ that _ much training are you?” Athos raised an eyebrow. 

It was more than enough for their practice with muskets for sure.

Aramis smiled. “If I did, the recruits might just approach my skill. Only just though. Anyway, what did you want?”

“I’ve got an important letter that needs to be taken to the Duke of Lorraine.”

**~oOo~**

The next time Aramis was put on guard duty at the palace he managed to slip away to the King’s bedchamber. There in his bedside cabinet stood a few bottles of medicine. The King had been suffering with a cough recently, and the court physician had made up some tinctures. It seemed this would be the easiest way to dispatch the monarch. It would be clean and quiet, and Aramis could be somewhere else by the time the King took his last breath.   


Just as he left and closed the door behind him, Aramis turned to find Anne approaching.

He bowed. “Your Majesty.”

“Is the King not in his chambers?” 

“I’m afraid not.”

She didn’t even think to question why he was there. After looking around to ensure they were alone her demeanour softened.

“I am pleased to see you again.”

“I am always happy to see you, Majesty.” He studied her carefully and smiled. “Do you ever imagine another life, somewhere far away, where you can be somebody else?”

She frowned a little, as if confused at where this strange question had come from. “I do, but I never dwell on it for long, for it cannot be.”

“Do you think you could be happy if you were just Anne, and not the Queen?”

“Being the Queen affords me many comforts and luxuries, but it is a cage in it’s own way. At least as Anne I would be free.” She drew a little closer to him. “Free to love as I wished.”

“Perhaps it is all just a dream, but perhaps one day it could be more.”

“What do you mean?”

He moved to put his hands to her arms, but footsteps down the corridor heralded the arrival of an approaching servant. The two of them sprung apart. 

“Have hope, Your Majesty.” He bowed and left just as the servant reached them.

Aramis looked over his shoulder to see the servant bowing in turn. But Anne’s eyes were staring at Aramis in confusion, he offered her only a warm smile in return.

**~oOo~**

This time Romero slipped into the pew beside Aramis and subtly passed him a small bottle. 

“This will do the job.”

Aramis looked down at the tincture in his hand. “What is it?”

“The poison of kings and the king of poisons.” 

Arsenic then.

“When?”

“Not yet, there are still preparations to be made. But soon. Keep it safe and I will send word when it is time. Tie your blue sash to the garrison side gate when you go to make your move. I have men watching, the carriage will be put in place and everything will follow on from there. A better France is in the making. Stay strong, my friend.”

With a pat to the shoulder, Romero was gone.

Aramis stared down at the bottle. It was such a little thing. So small, and yet so great. He held death in his hands. The fate of France sat nestled between his palms. This could change everything.

It could change everything. If he let it.

Aramis looked back up to the statue of Jesus looming over the church. He seemed to pin Aramis with his sorrowful stare.

And under the scrutiny of those vacant eyes, Aramis became painfully aware of the sins weighing him down. He felt the dirt staining his soul, the grit against his skin, the way it suffocated him in his grave. He wanted to be rid of it. And here he was burying himself deeper. He was conspiring to commit murder. Not just any murder.  _ Regicide _ .

And Aramis began to wonder when he had fallen so low.

When and why. Why had he fallen so low? For Anne and his son. He wanted to be near them and had led Marguerite to her death. Now he was chasing the dream of another life. How many more would die for it? Aramis closed his fist tightly around the bottle, knowing he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to be happy. He deserved to suffer. And his punishment would be to love a woman he could never have and watch a son he could never claim. They were not Anne and his son. They were the Queen and the Dauphin. They never belonged to him, and they never would.

But there was Romero and the fate of France to consider. The others had done much to loosen Romero’s iron grip on Aramis, but the man still retained some sort of a hold over him.

Aramis looked back down to the bottle in his hand. He could drop it, watch it smash against the flagstones and drain harmlessly away. Just like the future he yearned for. 

Instead he closed his fingers around the bottle and got to his feet.

**~oOo~**

That night found Aramis in his quarters, on his knees, hands clasped. But it was no vision of a cross he looked to. The arsenic sat upon the edge of the table before him. 

“Please… Father… Guide me, tell me what to do.  _ Please _ .” His hands tightened and shook. “I don’t know what to do.”

Suddenly a flare of anger took him. “Why must I be tortured so?!”

He reared up and banged a fist down on the table. The bottle shook and threatened to tip over. 

_ You are tortured because you deserve it _ . Another part of him seemed to answer.

“I wanted none of this!”

_ What do you want? _

Her.

And the fight drained out of him. Aramis settled to clasp his hands again. “Forgive me, Father... I need guidance. I cannot trust myself in this. My heart is split in two, I don’t know… I don’t… just, send me a sign, anything, please.”  
  
A moment passed and then there was a soft knock at the door. 

Aramis leapt on the bottle and stashed it away. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, now open up.”

Porthos.

Aramis went to let his friend in. “And what can I do for you at this late hour?”

Porthos held his hands up. One contained a bottle of wine, the other a pack of cards. “Can I tempt you?”

“Did you run out of people to fleece in the tavern?”

“Not quite, but let's just say the patrons weren’t up to my standard.”

“And you think I am?” Aramis spoke with a hint of wryness.

“After those I faced tonight you’re a considerable improvement.”

Aramis stepped back and waved Porthos over to the table. Ice ran through his veins as Porthos set the wine down where arsenic had stood moments earlier.

“Shall we play for anything, or just for pleasure?”

Porthos dealt out the cards, while Aramis stared fixedly at the bottle.

“Aramis?”

He started, and Porthos repeated his question.

“Well, I have little to play for, and little pleasure for that matter.”

“That’s what the wine is for, and the good company of course.” Porthos grinned and flourished a hand towards his own chest.

Aramis tried for a smile and took his seat. “For pleasure then.”

Of course Aramis could tell Porthos’ true reason for being there. He was worried. Aramis hadn’t joined them at the tavern and with his night terrors making a reappearance Porthos was no doubt concerned. So he made an effort to seek Aramis out - with wine to make sleep easier - and get him to talk. 

Aramis tried to be the Aramis that Porthos wanted to see. It felt like he was wearing a mask that he was crumbling behind. Piece by piece he was falling away into dust. But he would fall and blow away into the wind before letting Porthos see.

Bit by bit the bottle drained and the candles wore down. Conversation flowed easily with the wine, but Aramis gave nothing away.

Eventually Porthos drank the last of the wine, he gathered up his cards and looked as if he were about to get to his feet. He paused, and looked at Aramis,  _ really _ looked.

“There is something troubling you, my friend. If you do not wish to speak of it I will not push you. Just remember, I meant what I said - I am with you, whatever comes.”

Porthos was not so easily fooled by thin, brittle, masks it seemed. 

“Thank you.” Aramis didn’t know what else to say. 

Porthos smiled, clasped Aramis’ shoulder, and let himself out.

Aramis stood staring at the door long after Porthos had gone. Those words…  _ I am with you, whatever comes _ … they had given him a strange sense of calm.

Eventually he got into bed and closed his eyes to a restful night’s sleep.

**~oOo~**

The days that followed were a strange but welcome return to normality. Aramis went about his duties, his prayers in church went undisturbed, and so did his sleep. But at the bottom of a small wooden box in his lodgings sat a bottle that could change everything.  _ If he used it _ . For a bottle by itself was no danger, even containing a fatal dose of poison, it was harmless. It could sit in that box an age untouched. A hand was needed to administer it. Would Aramis lend his hand to the cause? He opened the box a time or two, to check it was still there, to check it was real. But he did not touch it. He closed the lid and put it away, out of sight, out of mind. The bottle was never entirely out of mind though, it scratched away at the back of his thoughts, a constant irritation. 

And then one night Aramis returned from the tavern to find a letter had been pushed under the door of his lodgings. Gingerly he pulled the parchment apart to read the sprawling writing:

_ The pieces are in place.  _

_ It is time for checkmate. _

_ Your move. _

_ Do not let me down. _

Aramis screwed the letter up in a tight fist and took a deep breath.

In that moment he knew what he had to do.


	19. Chapter 19

Slowly Aramis unwound the blue sash from about his waist and tied it to the side gate of the garrison. Early morning shadows still clung to the land, there was nobody to see him, but the feeling of being watched lingered. He paused there, one hand on the sash, one hand on the wrought iron. It would take just a moment to undo the sash, don it once again, and go about his day as normal. If he walked away and left it there he would set the plan in motion. This day would be one for betrayal. This day everything would come to an end.

Aramis bowed his head, shut his eyes, and whispered a short prayer.

And then he turned and made for the stables.

**~oOo~**

Aramis rode towards the palace with the others who were on guard duty. He wanted to make an attempt at being his normal jovial self, but knowing what was about to come he just couldn’t. He hung towards the back while the others traded light hearted conversation ahead. Aramis only spoke when it came to arrange the guard detail, he made sure to claim a patrol in the area near the King’s chambers.

As he walked down the palace corridors Aramis played with the vial in his pocket. He tried to shut down his frantic mind. Events were set in motion, he had made his choice, all he had to do was focus on the actions. Just like when he set fire to the fuse… 

No, that thought did not lead anywhere good. Instead he turned his thoughts to the people he passed by, ladies with their faces hidden by fluttering fans. He heard whispers, laughter. There were so many eyes, friendly, unfriendly, how could he tell? He could not trust here, there was no one to trust but himself. Only he could do this. The faces thinned out as he went along. At last, the way was clear, aside from Feron. The Governor came hobbling towards him. Aramis stared straight ahead, a soldier on patrol, nothing more. But he felt Feron’s knowing look.

They passed by each other without a word. Romero was involved with Grimaud and Grimaud had dealings with Feron. He must have been part of it. He must have known what Aramis was there to do, and he said nothing.

Aramis swallowed heavily, listening to the sound of Feron’s cane receding into the distance.

There was quiet when he finally faced the door to the King’s bedchamber. 

**~oOo~**

Aramis returned to his duties until the King, pale and coughing, decided to retire. It would not be long until all was set in motion, he had to play his part. Aramis calmly made his way to the Queen’s quarters, his heart was beating at a frantic pace. The air seemed too close, as if a gathering storm was about to break. 

When he entered, the Queen’s ladies got up to leave. Aramis bid her get ready to go as a matter of urgency. There was little time to say much, he could already imagine what was going on in the King’s chambers… the commotion… the calls for a physician… But he asked her to trust him, and told her that she would be safe. There was nothing to fear, they would be protected.

Aramis took the Dauphin’s hand and whisked them away, down to a door where he knocked a specific staccato rhythm. An answer came and the door opened to reveal two men standing outside with their faces covered. Beyond them was the carriage, the driver glanced over and tipped his hat. Aramis issued an instruction to take care of the Queen and the Dauphin. And then he went for his horse. There was one last thing to do. 

Aramis rode quickly through the streets of Paris. Life went on as normal out here, the chaos would not have breached the palace yet. He tethered his horse some way from the garrison, and then walked through the archway.

His breath came quickly in the momentary shade under the stone work. Ever had this been a place of warmth and safety. Now one thing dripped with his sweat through every pore… danger. 

It had to be done right. It had to be done. There was no going back now, he must see it through. This was the right thing to do, but deep in his chest there was a hollow feeling of betrayal. Aramis tried to stamp down on it and detach his mind from his feelings. All he had to do was act. His heart did not matter in this moment.

And then in a matter of moments the fuse was set.

**~oOo~**

The world only seemed to fully come back when Aramis was outside of Paris. He felt like he had been watching through the eyes of another, the hands that had done these things were not his. He could breathe again, he was himself again, and just in time.

For Romero was waiting for him on the hill ahead. And this was perhaps the most important moment of all.

Aramis urged his horse forwards and dismounted before approaching the Spaniard. “It is done.”

“I saw the explosion, I knew you would not let me down.” There was such pride in Romero’s voice.

“The King is dead, the Queen and the Dauphin are being taken away, and the garrison is incapacitated.” Aramis met Romero’s eyes. “Your move.”

Romero slowly turned to look behind him. Further up the hill a shadowed man sat on a black horse. Like a raven upon its perch, the figure silently watched proceedings.

_ Grimaud _ .

Romero looked back at Aramis and fixed a steady eye upon him. “You are a killer of Kings now. How did it feel?”

Aramis dropped his gaze and searched for the right word. “Just.”

A satisfied smile spread across Romero’s face. 

“Remember this moment. Treasure it.” He clasped Aramis’ shoulder. “If you wish it you could have a place in our new world. And it will be a better world.”

“I just want my new life. The one you promised me in exchange for all of  _ this _ .” A bitter look passed across Aramis’ face. “You will let me have it, won’t you?”

“Of course. You are released.”

It was as if a cold wave had washed over Aramis. He closed his eyes and held onto those words. He was free… he was  _ free _ , if only for a moment. 

“What’s this?” Romero’s voice was tainted with annoyance. “Why are they  _ here _ ? They should be miles away by now!”

Aramis turned around to find the carriage approaching, with those two men riding to either side at the rear.

“My friend, I swear to you they were instructed to take the Queen and Dauphin to safety.” There was a strange hint of nervousness in Romero’s voice. It was as if he was unsure, and in all the time that he had known the man Aramis had never heard him sound unsure.

When the carriage drew closer one of the men jumped down from his horse.

“What are you doing here?! You fool, you were told to-” But Romero’s chastisement was cut off as the man, still with his face covered, went to open the carriage door. “Your Majesty, rest assured we will have you on your way…”

The Queen came to the door, and Romero fell silent as he found himself staring down the barrel of a pistol.

He looked around the gathered men with confusion. “What is this?”

The Queen took down her hood and Aramis smiled. It was Constance standing in the doorway, levelling a gun at Romero’s chest.

“Aramis, where is the Queen?”

Part of Aramis felt deeply satisfied at Romero’s confusion, but another part of him was wounded. It was the part that felt he was betraying his friend.

“Aramis, explain yourself. What of the King… the explosion?” 

Aramis looked away as the masked man stepped forwards.

“The King is alive, and those skilled with powder can arrange a blast with little damage.” He pulled down the scarf covering his face to reveal himself as Athos. “You are under arrest. Surrender your weapons and come quietly.”

Romero scowled and turned to Aramis. “This is your doing? You have betrayed me?”

Aramis looked to the ground, ashamed. But then a spark of defiance lit his heart, he met Romero’s eyes. It was time to own what he had done. 

“I did what was right.”

“It is not right! You have let  _ them _ win.” Romero cast his eyes over Athos. “You have sided with the Comte and his ilk. You’re not free, Aramis. You will be their dog forever now! Why did you betray me?!”

Aramis swallowed hard, he was fighting not to say those words…  _ I’m sorry _ . 

“Aramis! What of everything we worked for?!”

“I did what was right.” Aramis grit out once again. He felt as if he were turning to stone on the spot.

Athos intervened. “Your weapons. I won’t ask again.”

Behind them the shadowed figure of Grimaud turned his horse about to run. 

“Porthos!” D’Artagnan yelled from the driver’s seat.

“He’s mine!” The other masked man, Porthos, gave chase.

With the distraction Athos reached for his pistol, but Romero reached for his rapier. 

“You are outmanned and outgunned. Stop this foolishness and surrender.” Despite having a rapier aimed at his chest, Athos sounded as untroubled as ever.

Constance and d’Artagnan also had their pistols on Romero. Aramis’ hands remained frozen at his side.

“Aramis, if you help me now I will forgive you. Tell your friends there has been a mistake…”

“He has told us everything. It’s over. Even now the musketeers are on their way to your army, Grimaud will not get far, we have Feron and everyone in between who helped your cause. There is nothing and nobody left. It is over.”

“It’s not over.” Romero hissed. “I still have Aramis.”

“He is not yours.” Athos growled.

A moment of silence passed between them, as if leaving space for Aramis to claim a side. But he was silent, torn between the two men. One at the end of a pistol, one at the tip of a rapier. With them here before him the confusion returned. He had done the right thing. He had followed the plan and played the game, it was time for the killing blow. But the kings stood facing each other now. He could see all that they were, or claimed to be. And in that moment the black and white seeped away. Two soldiers stood facing each other. Two men who had fought and lost and fought again. 

As Aramis failed to speak up, Romero took the initiative. “I trust Aramis. He knows not to let me down.”

And Aramis nearly flinched at those words. 

“He knows because of what you did to him.” Athos’ calm voice belied the anger that lay beneath. Aramis could detect it, Aramis could tell. “He told us everything, including what you did. In those moments I wanted you at the end of a pistol. I wondered what I would do when I had you there.”

“And here we are.” Romero narrowed his eyes, a challenge. “What are you going to do?”

“I wanted to hurt you. For every hurt you inflicted on him I would visit it upon you tenfold. I would lock you in a dark room and wait for the creeping madness to take hold until you dashed your own head open upon the stone walls of your prison. You have been cruel, you have twisted his heart and mind. I would crush yours. But I won’t.” Athos slid a quick look towards Aramis. “I will arrest you and let the courts do their work. I will do what is right, just like Aramis.”

“And look how well he uses his words, Aramis. He wields them like a weapon, taught from an early age how to thrust and wound and put you where he wants you. He wants you behind him, is that where you’re going to stand? You do not have to. Forget his words, remember all he has done, leaving your friend to die, leaving his people to rot. He cares nothing for you, don’t be fooled!”

“Stop talking.” Athos raised his pistol a little higher.

The rapier advanced in return and the tension between them heightened.

“Aramis, my friend. We can escape this. Come with me, do not take the side of this Comte.” 

And some part of him wanted to. Aramis’ fists clenched at his side. He had to do what was right, but what was right had suddenly become a lot less clear.

“Do not listen to him. He has twisted you to his own purpose since the beginning. You do not serve him, you serve the King.”

“And you will live in chains with that servitude. To the King, to  _ him _ . He is no better a man than you, Aramis!” 

“No, I am worse.” Athos spoke evenly. “Aramis is my brother, my better. He knows this, I trust he will remember it.”

“Do not heed his honeyed words. Aramis, take your pistol and help me end this.”

Amidst the raised voices and the confusion one small word came from between Aramis’ lips… “No.”

He would not turn his weapons on them. Romero might have been his friend, but they were his brothers.

Romero’s look turned sour and his manner became more insidious. “I wonder if you really have told them everything? If so, you will end up hanging next to me. They will turn on you next. Do they know how filthy your hands are? Did you tell them about the man you killed who was too drunk to mount a defence? Did you let them know how you stabbed him just here?” Romero viciously pointed at the hollow of his collarbone. “Did you explain how his blood spewed forth like a fountain? How it stained your hands? How the hilt of your dagger was slick with it? That was you, Aramis, not me!”

Aramis trembled and grit his teeth.

Romero continued his onslaught. “You have caused more death than I. What of the countless you killed at the castle? Guards and helpless serving girls alike. You would have hung back there for your crimes! Now your so called friends will hang you here!”

“I didn’t want…” Aramis seemed to speak without knowing it as guilt seeped into his heart. “If I could take it back…”

As if sensing the walls crumbling down around Aramis, Athos jumped in. “Aramis, listen to me, it was not you. It was not your will behind those killings. We know this. You are  _ safe _ .”

“He lies! They will not let you go! You are as dead as I am! We have to act!”

Romero thrust forwards and a pistol shot cracked the air.

Aramis stood still, with his pistol held out, smoke wound its way from the barrel. In the grass lay Romero, he clutched desperately at his arm. Red seeped between his rigid fingers.

The others watched as Aramis lowered his weapon and stared, dazed, between the two men. In that moment his heart had chosen, he had trusted it to do the right thing. Romero had sought to instil fear within Aramis, but guilt took it’s place instead. Guilt and the realisation that everything they had done had been so very  _ wrong _ ...

Aramis came back to himself and strode over to Romero. He kicked the fallen rapier to one side and knelt by his former friend… former  _ captor _ .

“You let me down.” Romero hissed between clenched teeth.

“I know.”

_ And I’m not sorry _ .

**~oOo~**

_ Days earlier... _

_ “The pieces are in place.  _

_ It is time for checkmate. _

_ Your move. _

_ Do not let me down.” _

Aramis screwed the letter up in a tight fist and took a deep breath.

In that moment he knew what he had to do.

At morning muster the next day Aramis found his brothers. “I need to talk to you all. Come to my lodgings later.”

Aramis was sitting at the table when they arrived. Athos had been there first, and though he asked what this was about Aramis refused to speak until the others had joined them.

They took seats and watched Aramis with a certain sense of anticipation. Each man near held their breath as they waited for him to break the silence. 

Finally Aramis took in a deep breath and began. “You won’t like what I have to say, and half of me doesn’t want to say it. Maybe you’ll wonder why I waited until now. Maybe I should have told you earlier. But I’m telling you now, and this is hard enough. Forgive me.”

“It’s hard to forgive you when we don’t know what you’re talking about.” d’Artagnan raised an eyebrow.

“Romero is here.”

That announcement was greeted with silence. 

Porthos shifted uncomfortably. “Have you been sleeping?”

“Yes, why?” Aramis’ eyes narrowed.

“It’s just… lack of sleep can sometimes…” Porthos faltered as if he couldn’t think how to frame his words.

Aramis understood all the same. “You think I have imagined Romero?” d’Artagnan and Athos shared the same skeptical look. “He is here. As real as I am. And he wants me to kill the King.”

“Aramis…” Porthos started.

But he was interrupted by Athos. “Start at the beginning. Where did you first see him?”

Aramis got the feeling Athos was just humouring him, but they would realise the truth soon enough. “He found me in a church pew, and whispered such things in my ear. He has plotted with a man named Grimaud, an army has been raised, and Feron is involved as well. They want to kill the King and build a new France.” He paused to see if his words were having an effect. “As I have access they want  _ me _ to kill the King. In return Romero will arrange a carriage for the Queen and Dauphin. He says we can escape together, build a new life, be a family.”

Aramis let his words sink in, nobody spoke, but the eyes around the table seemed a little less skeptical. He took a deep breath and continued. “It’s all I ever wanted, and Romero offered it to me on a plate. I just had to commit one more murder.”

“And how would you do that?” Athos asked.

“With this.” Aramis pulled the small bottle out of his pocket and placed it in the middle of the table. “Arsenic.”

His story suddenly became a lot more believable judging by the expressions on their gathered faces.

“I am to lace the King’s medicine. Get the Queen and Dauphin to their carriage, and then blow up the garrison.”

“And then what?!” Porthos barked.

Athos gave him a knowing look, as if recalling the moment he found Aramis contemplating the powder stores.

“We need to arrest him.” d’Artagnan leaned forwards conspiratorially. “When next you meet Romero we can take him in. On your evidence he’ll surely hang.”

Athos looked thoughtful. “No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? The man should be under lock and key!” d’Artagnan turned to him with surprise.

“And he will be. But this is bigger than one man. If we arrest Romero we are felling a tree and leaving the rest of the rotten roots in place. We have a chance to take them all out if we act carefully. Feron, Grimaud, and anybody else in their pay.”

“What are you thinking?” Porthos asked.

“Give them enough rope to hang themselves.” He looked around the gathered faces. “I think we should let Aramis kill the King.”

They looked at Athos with confusion.

“Let them think the plan is working. On the King’s ‘death’ they will make their move and reveal themselves beyond doubt.”

There was a quiet moment of acceptance around the table. 

“We need to arrange a meeting with the King, and you need to tell us  _ everything _ .” He reached a hand to Aramis’ arm. “I know this cannot have been easy for you.”

Aramis looked at the table top, suddenly taken with the pattern of the grain. His words were slow to come. “I’m betraying him… but rather that than betraying you, and myself.”

He felt the phantom touch of fingers at his hand and closed his eyes. He was letting go of her too. It was only ever a dream, he told himself, it could never have been.

**~oOo~**

_ Earlier… _

It started with a blue sash. 

And then the palace. Feron. A snake. He wouldn’t get far, the musketeers awaited his arrival in the throne room.

Aramis went into the King’s bedchamber, he had a vial, but it contained something much less harmful than arsenic. The feeling of betrayal was still all pervasive. This was the moment Romero had prepared him for, this was the moment he turned his back on Romero, this was the moment _he_ _ let Romero down _ ...

The plan relied on the King next. He would need to act the part, and when told about his role he seemed strangely excited. It was as if he were playing the part of some hero on stage rather than acting out a deathly deception.

Aramis returned to his duties and soon after the King started coughing fit to wake the dead. As he retired Aramis began to wonder how much was real, and how much was put on. But he did not have time to wonder for long.

The Queen came next. When her ladies were ushered out Constance remained behind, together with her “nephew”, a small boy of the Dauphin’s age. Aramis had no idea if they really were related, or if it was another part of the deception. He urged them to hurry behind a screen and change into the Queen and Dauphin’s finery. Even now the King would be putting on his show. A physician would be summoned, and chaos was about to descend. They had to leave quickly.

The Queen approached as he paced a small hole in the carpet. 

“Please, keep them safe. Constance is very dear to me, as you know.” She seemed as if she wanted to reach out to Aramis, but managed to resist.

Just then Constance and the boy emerged, with cloaks and hoods up they were indistinguishable from the Queen and the Dauphin. 

“Trust me, Your Majesty.” He turned to Constance and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “You will be safe, there is no need for fear, you will be protected every step of the way. I swear it.”

“God’s grace be with you.” Anne whispered as they rushed out of the door.

Aramis had hold of the boy’s hand as they made their way to the carriage. He took the less used corridors and passages, hoping to avoid being seen. Between Romero, Feron, and Grimaud there were many eyes at the palace who knew of their plight and were primed to act. Aramis didn’t know all the men in their pay, but should the three of them be seen it would look like everything was going to plan. He was whisking away the Queen and Dauphin, just as he was meant to. 

When they reached the carriage Aramis ushered the pair over to Athos and Porthos. Their faces were covered and their identities concealed. d’Artagnan tipped his hat from the driver’s seat.

“Take care of them.” It didn’t need to be said, but Aramis said it anyway.

And then he went for his horse. There was one last thing to do.

Aramis walked through the garrison archway. This was possibly the most dangerous part. They had cleared out the men and horses, all but the skilled few who had helped set the powder. But there could still be untold damage and loss of life. It had to be done right. It had to be done. He trusted these men, just as Romero had trusted him. _ And look how that has turned out… _ A voice came unbidden.  _ Betrayal. This is betrayal. _ Aramis tamped those feelings down and turned his thoughts to the task at hand. All he had to do was light the fuse. A lit piece of parchment was held out before him. He took it.

And then in a matter of moments the fuse was set.


	20. Chapter 20

“My friend, it is good of you to visit on the eve of my death.”

Aramis placed himself a few inches from the bars of Romero’s cell. The man seemed suddenly small, dressed in rags.

“So I am your friend again am I?”

“I am led to believe it is Godly to forgive those who have betrayed you.” Though he seemed small, Romero had not lost that calculating look in his eye. “And you did betray me, Aramis.”

“I did what was right.” He fell on an old mantra.

“No. You chose a side. Ever the King’s lapdog.” Romero got to his feet and approached the bars. “Their hold on you is great. I thought I had led you to a better path, but their claws have sunk deep into your flesh. I could not free you, and for that I am sorry.”

“There is nothing to free me from.” Aramis spoke quietly.

“Tell yourself that as you walk the gilded corridors, blind to the hunger of the people in the streets. We could have changed that, Aramis. But you wouldn’t let us.”

Part of Aramis was beginning to wonder if coming to the prison was a mistake. He had wanted to see Romero before the man was put to death. He wanted to close a door on this whole sorry episode, but instead Romero was turning it around, as he did with everything. Aramis’ brothers told him Romero had twisted his mind, and now Romero said they were the ones doing the twisting. He wanted to end this, not sink deeper.

“I was not going to kill for you anymore. Especially not the King.” Aramis grit out.

“Why him especially? Why is his life worth more than any of the others you have taken? And you were killing for a better world, not for me.”

“I have sworn to protect him.”

“They don’t care about us!” Romero surged forwards to grip the bars. “You know this! You have lived this! Or have you forgotten those twenty dead men in the forest?”

“I will _never_ forget them!” Aramis growled.

“Then why do you so willingly lay your life down for those who throw it away so carelessly?”

Aramis dropped his head.

“Duty? Orders? That’s all you have to offer me, and I know you won’t say it. You know how wrong it is. To throw yourself on another’s sword, to go against every instinct to live, just on the word of a so called superior.” Romero sank back from the bars. His voice turned strangely melancholy. “I am sorry, Aramis. Though I face my end tomorrow, I would rather that than live as you. To be so trapped, so conflicted. I can see it in you. I always could. The thrill of the fight but the guilt of death, how does a man of God do it?”

Aramis was silent in the face of Romero’s scrutiny.

And so Romero continued. “Perhaps soldiering was the answer. Orders and duty. Put a certain banner in a man’s hand and God will ignore your transgression, is that how it works? It’s not like killing the innocent. But in time, perhaps you will come to see, they were all innocent.”

Romero came forwards again, but more gently. The scant light from a high window illuminated his features, Aramis looked up and tried to fathom how genuine his look of regret was.

“Oh Aramis... There might be a noose around my neck, but there’s a halo around yours. It’s slipped from your head. You’ll be choked by your own divinity.”

At that Aramis stepped back and went to a bag he had brought in. He pulled out a flask and two cups.

“I came to give you a last drink. Think of it as a kindness, like the candles you brought to me.”

Aramis sat down to pour out a dark, red wine. Then he pushed one cup towards the cell where Romero could reach it.

Romero took the cup slowly and stared into the depths of the drink before taking a sip. “A kindness.”

They sat in silence for a while, Romero sipped his wine while Aramis thoughtfully watched.

“I’m not sure it was a kindness really. To give me a hope that burns out.” Aramis ran a finger around the edge of his own cup. “It would have been kinder not to keep me locked up in the dark. Why did you do it?”

“I did not trust you. I needed to trust you.”

“There are better ways to gain trust.” Aramis spoke bitterly.

“In my time I have seen many ways used to break a man. But I was curious to discover one of the most effective was to put him in a dark room. The mind seems to conjure tortures no other can touch.”

“So you intended to break me?”

“Only so that I could rebuild you with truth instead of the lies that had taken root in your heart. I see now I did not dig deep enough. They have grown to bloom again.”

“I don’t want to be what you made of me.”

“But you are. A grain of truth still lives in your chest, you’ll never be rid of it.”

Aramis met Romero’s eyes. “I once told you I stepped on a dying bird. It was a mercy killing, but it robbed me of sleep. This feels the same. Whatever you did is falling away. I’m smothering it, though it is hard.”

“And there is more than one dying bird to put out of its misery.” Romero drained his cup and pushed it away. “Aramis, I can’t help but notice you haven’t touched your drink.”

He did not smile, he simply kept his eyes locked on Romero as he pulled a familiar, now empty, vial from his pocket. Aramis wordlessly set it down next to his full cup.

“I wanted it to be me.” There was no emotion in his voice at all. “After all you’ve done, I wanted to be the one who killed you. And I wanted you to know it was me, as you spent your last few hours in agony.”

Romero simply smiled. “Thank you.”

Aramis frowned slightly.

“Thank you, my friend. You have saved me from the noose, from the spectacle, the indignity. You have shown me mercy.”

No… this was _not_ a mercy killing!

Was it?

Had that other half of him tainted his actions with some wayward influence? Would it have been better to let Romero hang?

Aramis got to his feet. “Know that I did not do this to save you.”

“And yet I am saved."

“Saved only to rot in hell.”

“Perhaps I will do better at the devil’s side. I have come to wonder what sort of a God would let us live in a world like this. Is he like the rest of them? Does he see and not care? Or perhaps he lives in fear of his own creation. We have done such terrible things, maybe he can no longer bear to look at us. What do you think, Aramis, is he callous or a coward?”

“I think you should spend your last hours praying for his forgiveness.”

Aramis threw the wine out of his cup and put them away in his bag. He watched the tainted red liquid drain away through the flagstones.

“Goodbye, Romero.”

He realised then, the only ending he would get was to walk away and not look back. Aramis closed the door on Romero’s last words. They went unheard. Perhaps in that he found his victory.

**~oOo~**

Aramis had returned to the garrison to sit at their usual table. It was quiet, with all others out on their duties. He stared into nothing, expressionless, deep in thought. Until the sound of approaching footsteps drew his attention.

Athos slid onto the opposite bench, Aramis gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. They sat in silence a while, until it turned from companionable to oppressive.

“What troubles you?” Athos ventured.

Aramis smiled bitterly. What didn’t?

“Nothing, just raking over recent events.”

“Well, it will all be over tomorrow. You can put this behind you.”

“There’ll be no hanging tomorrow.” Aramis looked away with a shade of guilt.

Athos narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”

Murder. A mercy killing. What was it? Of course Romero would send Aramis into turmoil by embracing him in those last moments. He should have expected it.

But whatever his intention, the effect was still the same. 

“I cannot say.” 

“ _Aramis_.” The name was said with exasperation.

“You already carry enough of my secrets. Let this one be.” His eyes seemed to plead with Athos.

“I told you not to see him.” Athos had already put two and two together.

“I had to, at least I thought I had to. Now I’m not so sure. There are never any answers, only more questions... more confusion.”

“And that is what he does to you. That is why I told you to stay away.”  
  
“Perhaps I should have. But in the end, despite everything, I chose a side.”

“And what side did you choose?”

Aramis met Athos’ eyes. “Yours.”

**~oOo~**

The next day the musketeers joined the gathering crowds before the scaffold. The heavy rope didn’t swing an inch in the slight breeze. Porthos had a hand to Aramis’ shoulder as they watched an official climb the steps.

“There will be no hanging today.” The man announced. “The prisoner has escaped rightful justice. His body was discovered in his cell this morning.”

A discontented murmuring set up amongst the crowd. Porthos’ hand tightened.

“Somebody must have got to him.” Porthos growled. “To die just before your sentence is carried out…”

“Looks suspicious.” d’Artagnan agreed.

“Whatever the case, Romero is dead. Whether at the end of the noose or in his cell makes no difference to me.” Athos gave a pointed look towards Aramis, who was still staring fixedly at the scaffold. “As it is nearing time for lunch, I suggest we make for the nearest tavern, eat, and raise a glass to his passing.”

Whether it was the thought of food, or a distraction for Aramis, Porthos quickly agreed.

However d’Artagnan seemed a little more resistant to Athos’ changing of the subject. “Do you think there will be an investigation?”

“Unlikely. The man was going to die one way or another. In any case, he died in his cell on the prison guard’s watch. If there’s any investigating to be done, they can be the ones to do it. I suggest we wash our hands of this whole business. Now, shall we?” Athos waved his hand in the direction of the tavern.

Once again Athos found himself covering for Aramis. Fortunately it came across as distracting him from his woes rather than distracting others from his commission of murder. Although Aramis hadn’t admitted it, it was all too clear what he had done.

“Aramis?” Porthos tugged at his arm.

“Hm?” He broke his fixed gaze from the scaffold and seemed to come back to himself.

“We’re off to the tavern. Are you coming?”

“Oh, of course.”

They set off as a foursome, but as they made their way along the street Athos gradually hung back with Aramis.

Athos lowered his voice. “I need to make sure. They know you visited, so _if_ people start looking… Is everything disposed of?”

The cups, the wine, the vial. All gone.

“Yes. I only visited to talk.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

As they joined the other two, Porthos slung an arm around Aramis’ shoulders. “It’s all over. That wretch is out of your life and you’re free. Now that’s something to drink to!”

And yet, it didn’t quite feel over. Aramis supposed he would always embody the conflict Romero spoke of. The devout killer. And though he had chosen his side, he had seen with his own eyes the indifference of the monarch. There was a shade of truth to Romero’s words. But Aramis had chosen his side, and he would stand by it until his dying day. And when that day came it would be for God to judge him.

With every step away from the scaffold and towards the tavern, Aramis’ heart seemed to lighten. He slipped back into their banter and everything else slipped away. In this moment, at least, he could be free. With the help of his brothers, he would be free. When Aramis was unsure of so much in the world, he was sure of one thing: They cared for each other, even if nobody else would.

As they neared the tavern Aramis ground to a halt. A smile spread across his face. There in the street stood a woman with a very familiar horse. _Hawthorn_. Romero said he had sold the horse to a woman. She was deep in conversation with another, smiling, laughing.

“Look at him, back to his old ways already.” Porthos gave a nod to Aramis.

“For once, it’s not the lady I’m interested in.” He clapped Porthos on the back before jogging over to the couple. “Mademoiselle, that’s a lovely horse you’ve got there!”  


_Our parting was like a stalemate._   
_Neither of us won. Yet both of us lost._   
_And worse still...  
That unshakable feeling that nothing was ever really finished._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is by Ranata Suzuki. 
> 
> This is where we draw to a close.
> 
> Thank you for all of the comments and kudos. Especially those who have followed and commented all along the way. Your support has been much appreciated. You're awesome! :)


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